


Reaching for Joy 2

by evieplease



Series: Reaching for Joy [2]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston-Fandom
Genre: 80's musical films, Dancing, F/M, Old Girls, Old Ladies, Porn With Plot, Sex, Tea, filming in a small town, large family, mindfulness, senior caregiver, tiny woman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:53:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25843882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evieplease/pseuds/evieplease
Summary: Part two of Reaching for Joy. Joy takes on a new meaning
Relationships: Tom Hiddleston/Original Female Character(s), Tom Hiddleston/Pix
Series: Reaching for Joy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725499
Comments: 45
Kudos: 43





	1. Grace Under Pressure

Tom had left for Spain, and life had returned to normal, chasing after my Old Girls, evenings in the pub, playing and joking around with Jamie, visits to my sisters in London, trips to the theater, and a even a date or two. Unrewarding ones, but there you are. My life.

Of course I missed him. I’d enjoyed having someone new to talk to, enjoyed listening to his stories and telling him mine. I missed hearing his laugh.

He was fun and spontaneous, and surprisingly open with me. I don’t know, I expect he was as surprised by it as I was, given his history.

But my fun was over, and I needed to get back into my own familiar headspace, and out of his.

I was energetic and busy until a few weeks later, when I began to feel the dragging warning symptoms of my old nemesis, Endometriosis. Endo. 

Nausea, pain and exhaustion like lead weights attached to all my limbs— though it was early days yet, experience had taught me it would get much, much worse. I knew my body was working up to another menstrual torment. It was horrible, but I’d lived with it since I was fourteen, and I’m nearly thirty now.

Mum had dragged me off to several doctors while I was a teen, all of them, to a man, unsympathetic and condescending. They kept telling me that my body was maturing, and my periods would normalise eventually. What they meant was I just needed to calm down and accept the unearthly torture that were my periods was my bloody lot in life, and to quit whingeing. I was offered extra strength paracetamol and told to trade in my teddy bear for a hot water bottle. 

Thank god for Mum.

My mum believed me, and refused to give up on me. She finally got me to a doctor who knew something of what she was about, who connected the dots, did a laparoscopic surgery and made an official diagnosis of Endometriosis. NOT an attention seeking, whinging, hysterical, drug seeking, little layabout teenager with an overprotective, helicopter mother, thank you very much!

Apparently the tissue lining my uterus, the stuff that grows and bleeds off with periods, goes wherever it pleases, traveling into my fallopian tubes in the event, which means that I’m extremely unlikely to get pregnant without surgery to open the blocked tubes. It also means that every period is extremely heavy and excruciating for somewhere around two or three weeks.

The good news was that mine is considered a mild case, because I didn’t have masses of endometrial tissue adhering to all my (other) pelvic organs. So I don’t experience constant debilitation and pain between periods. And because my periods are so irregular, I only have these horrific episodes 3 or 4 times a year, rather than every month. Yay.

It was with relief that we accepted that I wasn’t actually dying of some peculiar, undiagnosable disease. The good doctor prescribed birth control pills to reduce the symptoms and eliminate my periods, and then she promptly buggered off to some other practice in the north of England.

The pill did help; no periods, no pain! For me, at least. It doesn’t work that way for everyone. But the side effects of the pill itself were unbearable. Violent mood swings, bloating, severe acne, and something too close to suicidal depression. It was awful.

The next doctor I saw huffed in exasperation at my apparent unwillingness to comply with a medication regime that made me want to kill myself. As if it were somehow my fault that I couldn’t tolerate the hormones to his satisfaction. He took me off the pill and turned a deaf ear when my Endo symptoms returned, with horrible floods of bleeding that he called ‘heavy’ and that I called ‘near exsanguination’, and excruciating pain that he called ‘cramping’, and I called an eleven on the pain scale.

He refused to give me better pain relief than extra strength paracetamol, because he said I’d get addicted, and offered sedatives instead, to ‘calm me down’. I’d ended up in A&E often enough that the hospital decided that I was just trying to get high.

Four suspicious, disbelieving, condescending and bloody unhelpful doctors and four years later, I just gave up on medical treatment. I don’t have any idea why these men would go into gynaecology when they clearly didn’t like or believe women.

Instead, I worked on keeping fit with my yoga, getting my zen on with meditation, and experimenting with my herbs and teas. I don’t know that the teas helped with my physical pain, but my head and heart felt better to be doing something. I felt the tiniest bit more in control.

My Endo never gets any better, in fact, it’s gotten worse over the years, but at least I don’t also have to deal with bloody doctors who have no fucking clue, and don’t want one!

I’m quite lucky, really. As awful as my symptoms are, at least they disappear between periods. Unlike the constant pain and bleeding that a lot of Endo victims have. Endo affects about 1 in 10 women to varying degrees! You’d think that medical science would figure this rubbish out, but apparently researchers are more interested in making new and better magical hard-on pills for old men who probably have no business fucking around anyway, than in actual women’s actual debilitating pain.

So now I just deal. Grit my teeth and take to my bed for 2 or 3 weeks with my teas, hot water bottle and visualisations of tropical beaches a few times a year, and do my best to get on with my life when I can. Thank the goddess for a family and friends who can pitch in when I simply can’t.

The upset stomach and increasing tiredness that heralded my next period started in about six weeks after Tom buggered off to Spain, and I was only grateful that he wasn’t around to witness what was to come. I’d never had a relationship that lasted through one of my periods. Most men don’t want to know. In fact, most people don’t want to know, so I just kept shut about it, and did my best to cope.

Being self-employed was my only option, really. Most employers won’t stand for workers who don’t turn up for weeks at a time, several times a year.

There was nothing to do but get on with it. Mum and Robbie are always good about taking over when I’m poorly. I’ll get them sorted soon.

——

“Pix, dear girl! So good to see you!”

I startled nearly out of my skin, spinning around and dropping the watering can in my hand. Which, fortunately, was nearly empty.

“Julia! I didn’t expect you for another week!”

I had just dropped round to water her african violets while she was off visiting her granddaughters in the school hols. Children of Her Right Royal Highness, Resting Bitch Face. AKA, Serena. The kids are pretty good though.

She shook her white head, her blue eyes sparkling with irritation. 

“Had enough, dear. Once the girls went back to school, there wasn’t much fun to be had in that house, I can tell you! So I came home to bother you, dear. Maybe find some trouble to get into…”

I laughed and squeezed her hands, glad to see her again. “I’m sure if you don’t find any trouble, you’ll make some! Innocent bystanders beware!”

“Do you consider yourself to be an innocent bystander?” Her sweet inquiring voice was belied by the devilish twinkle in her eyes. 

I sighed. “God knows I try to be.”

Julia smiled slyly. “If you say so, dear. Do you have time for tea?”

I did. Was gagging for a cuppa, to be honest. “Oh, yes please! I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?”

“That would be lovely, dear,” she said with satisfaction, and seated herself on her sofa.

So I made tea and brought it into the lounge on a tray. Mum taught me how to make a proper brew, but Mrs. Whitaker taught me how to make a proper presentation. With biscuits and the good china!

I set the tea tray down and watched Julia be ‘mother’. I’ll never have her grace and style, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the finer points when I see them. She handed me my cup and saucer, and settled back in her chair, ankles demurely crossed, taking a delicate sip and surveying me over her cup.

“Are you quite well, dear Pix? Forgive me, but you look a bit peaky.” She said with some concern.

I knew what she was seeing. Shadows like lupines under my eyes and a far too pale, tired face. I attempted to brush off her concern. I expect it’s just my old Endo returning to make my rare period miserable. I’ve learned the only way through is to keep going, until I can’t any longer.

“I’m fine,” I shrugged. “Been fighting off a stomach bug, maybe having a bit of trouble sleeping. How have you been keeping?” I smiled brightly at her.

Naturally, she ignored my feeble attempt to turn the subject. Her eyes narrowed and lips pursed as she surveyed me.

“Pix dear, have you seen a doctor?”

I sighed. “Well no, but-“

“And what would you have to say to me if I were in your situation?” She arched an eyebrow and peered over her cup at me imperiously.

I sighed again, knowing I was beaten. I’ve known for weeks that the whole malarkey was starting up again, and just hadn’t wanted to face it.

Despite reams of medical records documenting my endometriosis, I’m still treated suspiciously, as if I’m somehow faking my pain. As if I’m just a drug seeking junkie looking for an easy fix. I hate it. Hate the way I’m treated by old male doctors, peering at me disbelievingly over half moon glasses, pursed lips and disapproval. 

But I’ll end up there anyway. I might as well get started. I’d better phone Mum, get her to come care for my Old Girls. If Mum’s too busy she’ll organise cover with my siblings. Robbie is brilliant with the Old girls, and currently between jobs.

Julia set her tea cup down and reached for my hand. “Sleeplessness and tummy troubles could be a serious physical ailment, Pix,” she said innocently. “Please see your GP, won’t you?” She regarded me sternly, not allowing me to withdraw my hand until I answered her.

“Yes, ma’am,” I sighed, wondering when our roles had come to be reversed.

So I went ahead and made an appointment with another new GP, simply because I didn’t like to worry Julia. She frets over me because she herself had ignored her own brewing illness, brushing it off as indigestion, until she’d had a heart attack in her 50’s. She’s worried I’ll go the same way. She cares.


	2. Expect the Unexpected

“Don’t be ridiculous!” I snapped in astonishment at the nice Doctor who was giving me my test results. “Have you not seen my records? I have endometriosis! My fallopian tubes are occluded! I’m infertile, not pregnant!”.

My head was spinning, utterly gobsmacked. “There’s obviously been a mistake… the wrong person’s test results… I can’t be… I’ve never even had to use birth control! I just use condoms for disease prevention! How could I be...?” I shook my head at the impossibility.

“Condoms are birth control, dear,” she reminded me archly. “But they’re not perfect, you know. Have you been using them properly? All the time? Had any accidents?” She asked me patiently.

Oh. Fuck me. That broken condom… I stared at her bewildered.

“But I'm infertile…” my voice sounded strange inside my head in a wail of bewilderment.

“Apparently not anymore, love,” the doctor replied sympathetically. I sat staring at her, trying to take it all in. Not infertile? In fact, pregnant?

Wait. A baby?? Something overwhelming blossomed in my chest as I sat there. A baby? Oh my God, the one thing I thought I’d never have in this life..? I gulped a breath.

“Okay. Okay. Right… Okay. Give me a cup to pee in again. Because either I’m wrong or you're wrong. And I’m not letting myself believe it until it’s been confirmed twice!”

The Doctor laughed. “Certainly.” She pulled out a sample cup and pointed me to the loo again. “You know what to do. I am happy to double check. It will take about, oh, three minutes.”

She shook her head at me. I know she must have seen some interesting reactions to this kind of news, but I got the impression that she was more amused than disbelieving.

Fifteen minutes later—because it took me at least ten minutes to bloody relax enough to pee in the damn cup—Pregnant. The Doctor was very kind about my disbelief. But I couldn’t doubt any longer, I’d seen the test results. Twice.

I went home in a daze, prenatal vitamins, pamphlets, and a book list in hand.

A baby. I'm going to have a baby…

Well. That explained my queasy tummy these past weeks. I arrived home in a completely zombified state, dropping my things at the door, stripping off my coat and shoes blankly. And my shirt. And trousers… I didn't stop until all my clothing was scattered on the floor. And then I lost my damn mind.

Panic! Joy! Fear! Joy! Oh my God, a baby! MY baby! The baby I was never supposed to be able to have…

My body folded onto the floor as I stared at the Leia poster on the wall, utterly overwhelmed with too many emotions zipping and zapping through my brain.

Random thoughts teased at my consciousness… my God, it had to be superpower sperm! I laughed. And laughed. I might have been a little bit hysterical. I peered down and a hand crept tentatively down to my belly for the first time, fingers prodding to find a difference, but there was none. I was just as flat and skinny as ever…

My hand flattened under my navel. There's a baby in there. My baby. In there.

I finally staggered up from the floor, only then realizing how chilled I was. I panicked a little. Don’t let the baby get cold! A voice spoke in my head, sounding exactly like my mum.

I scurried into my bedroom, diving into my warmest PJs, throwing a cardi over top and my warmest socks on my feet. Finally some form of calm began to seep in. Or maybe it was just numbness. Whatever.

Well. I’d better find something to feed the baby as well, however queasy I was. I had been feeling a constant sort of low level nausea that put me off my food.

Suck it up, I’m going to be a mum!

I dug a packet of instant porridge out of the cupboard. That ought to be bland enough for my roiling gut, but good enough to feed baby...

And so it proved. As I ate, I started reading the material that my GP had sent home with me, devouring the information as I devoured my porridge. The nurse had tipped me off to taking my prenatal vitamins after a meal, so I opened the packet and took the first one.

That right there, that first prenatal vitamin, brought Tom into my mind for the first time. Tom...

Tom, with the celebrity life, and months-long trips to Spain, and places further afield. Places that are not here. Tom, with a life and a career, possibly adamantly opposed to unplanned fatherhood. Oh God.

It's not that I think he would be violently opposed to the idea. But I honestly don't know what his reaction would be. And if his reaction was negative, what resources could he bring to bear against me? Certainly, he has more power than I have, if he wanted to be difficult. Of course, why shouldn't he be difficult? He never asked for this. And I had basically promised that it wouldn't happen.

Dear God, I have never once imagined myself with an unplanned pregnancy. Certainly not as a result of a weeklong fling with someone so far outside my little world.

I automatically rinsed my dishes and went to brush my teeth, numbly climbing into bed. I lay under the blanket, staring up at the ceiling in the dark for hours, my brain running in a hamster wheel, trying to find a way out of the shattering realization that I hold two other people's futures in my belly. 

But...

If I don't tell him… he won't have a say. And I won't have to deal with the problem of telling him... The fact is, this is my child. Mine. As unexpected and impossible as it is, I want this child. I'm growing this baby in my body, and that makes me responsible. One hundred percent responsible for this life. Telling Tom would do nothing to lessen that terrifying responsibility, but it would hand over to him the power to make both our lives miserable, or at least far more complicated than he already has.

Even worse, what if he decided that he wanted shared custody? I have no idea what sort of father he would be…

He was brilliant fun, wicked smart and ridiculously talented. Not to mention gorgeous, dead sexy and amazing in bed. And he was sweet and kind.

But I only knew him for a week. Well, nearly a fortnight. It came to me then that I needn't make this decision in a hurry. There was plenty of time... A great sense of relief washed over me at that. Yes, I would have to make a decision eventually, but taking care of my baby right now was more important than worrying about whether Tom was a father or a sperm donor. And frankly I had enough to deal with, I didn't know that I could deal with the complication right now. I needed to put my energy into learning how to be pregnant, how to grow a baby, and to be prepared to care for a child on my own.

Everything in my life has changed, and my priorities will be all about making a life for my child.

Thing one: I had assured him that there was nothing to worry about over the broken condom. And I had been – as far as I knew – absolutely truthful.

Thing two: I was wrong.

Thing three: everything.

I never had any doubt that I would have and keep this baby. Nobody gets to tell me different. Not even the daddy.

My breath caught in my throat, and hands clenched tightly. Nobody.

Fuck. Is it even ethical to have a child without reference to the father? I might be uncomfortable for Tom's sake for treating him as a sperm donor, but to tell him..? To open the door for him to have an opinion about what I do with my body? To let him have a say in whether I can keep my child?

God. I rolled over in my bed, wrapping my blankets around me in a tight cocoon.

Somewhere in the deepest dark night I drifted off.

——

Two months later…

*Pix darling, I’ll be in your neck of the woods tomorrow. Mind if I pop in?* -Tom

I stared at the unexpected, terrifying text on my mobile, swallowing hard and trying to stop my hands shaking. I hadn’t heard from him in ages. No. No, I can't see Tom. One look at me and all my cards would fall. 

I felt the panicky hysteria rising up my throat, locking down the muscles and my heart starting to pound like a bloody drum. This. This was the very thing I’ve tried to avoid.

I can't tell him. I can't see how it wouldn't hurt and anger him to realize that I'd withheld this from him. Baby turned a slow roll below my navel. At four months and a bit, we've gone beyond that fluttering butterfly wings sensation into definite stretches and rolls. I laid my hand over the grapefruit sized bump.

But most importantly, I don't know him well enough to know that he wouldn't try to assert some sort of… claim to my child, and I can't risk that.

It's too late to tell him. I can't go back on my decision now… tears gathered as I slowly and methodically blocked him, and deleted his number from my mobile. I set my mobile down carefully on my Nana's kitchen table, folded my arms on the old scarred surface and buried my face in them, sobbing my heart out. 

Bloody hormones.

When I ran out of tears at last, thankfully before I devolved into dry heaving, I made myself eat a simple meal of beans on toast, which as soon as I sat down to eat it, reminded me of my improvised meal with Tom. Maybe subconsciously, that was why I chose it. 

Oh god, that week had been so wonderful! 

A little voice reminded me that maybe it could have been that wonderful every day, but I squashed that voice pretty quickly. This was real life, there weren’t really any happily ever afters.

With my whole body feeling leaden, I forced myself to wash up and then took myself off for a long bath and bed.

It was inevitable that he would populate my dreams that night, bright eyes and bright laugh, flashes of brows drawn down in confusion, cheerful lust, reverence, anger. Hurt. Tears and remonstrations, sliding into a nightmare of large hands tearing my baby from my arms, the baby with his eyes looking back at me accusingly…

I woke with a lurch, crying out in fear and desolation, heart thundering and mouth dry. I lay there dry-eyed, staring at the wall until at last I dragged myself out of bed, tucking my vest down over the swell below my navel and hitching my flannel sleep pants up.

I trudged into the kitchen for a cup of my own pregnancy blend tea and a biscuit, sat and gave myself a right ticking off.

I made my bed, and now I have to lie in it. Alone. I'm the mum, and I have to be the responsible one. It's the best thing, really. Tom couldn't possibly fit into our lives here, and I couldn’t ask him to try. It would be too cruel.

I didn't even think about fitting into his life, it was just too chaotic to even consider. I couldn't imagine my baby appearing in gossip rags, let alone me! 

I finished my tea and went back to bed. I thought I wouldn't sleep, but I did, dreamlessly.

I threw myself into work over the next few weeks, determined to put all thoughts of Tom out of my mind. Fortunately, my old girls kept me hopping once they understood that I was serious about needing the energy outlet of work. I beetled about in an endless round of hairdressers appointments, doctors appointments, shopping trips and excursions to see this or that exhibit.

But I needed to talk to my Mum still. I hadn’t seen her in a couple of weeks, not since I started to show, anyway. Not that I was deliberately keeping things from her. But I had followed the conventional wisdom of not telling anyone about the pregnancy until we’d passed the first trimester. The only folks who know are the Old Girls and Jamie, because I see them every day.

I called her up, and told her I had some things I needed to discuss with her. I asked her to come out to lunch with me at a cozy little café that we liked on the outskirts of Stratford.

And so, there I was, nervously faffing about with a cup of tea as I waited for Mum. She wasn't late, I was early. Well, I was ‘late’ too, but that was the reason I needed to talk to her. I grimaced at my own lame joke.

Mum breezed in, pulling off her scarf and gloves, shrugging out of her scarlet coat and bending to kiss my cheek. Mum looks almost exactly like me; small, slender, pale skin, black eyes and long dark hair with threads of silver that she wears in an elegant twist at the back of her head. I know pretty much exactly what I will look like at fifty.

She settled into her chair, already chattering about the family, and asking how my Old Girls were faring, telling me that she was about done with Dad’s retirement lark. If he didn’t find something to do she’d go mad in white linen! At last she took a breath and I took my chance to get a word in. 

“So Mum, the reason I asked you here...”

Mum sat up and looked attentively at me with a bright smile.

“You’ve done such a great job helping me out Mum, I wonder if you'd like to apply for this other job..?” Mum’s eyebrows went up her forehead. 

“I don't understand, Pixie.” she said with a quizzical smile. “You want me to stop picking up work for you and..?” She looked confused. “What's the job?”

I ran a hand through my hair nervously. I needed to quit faffing about and just tell her already, I scolded myself.

“I'm going to have a job opening for...Nana?”

Mum stared at me for about 2 1/2 seconds before the penny dropped, then her face lit up and she shrieked, leaping out of her chair.

“A baby?? You're going to have a baby??” She lunged at me, pulling me out of my chair and into a dancing hug when I laughed and nodded my head maniacally.

Geez, why did I think it would be a good idea to tell her in a public place?

I heard clapping and cheers over Mum’s loud exclamations, and peeked around the room. The café diners near us were all grinning and entertained at Mum’s exuberant reaction to my news. I felt my face heat to a scalding red.

“Mum,” I hissed in her ear, “can we sit down? Please? We are disturbing all these nice people's lunch!”

Mum pulled away, grinning as she glanced ‘round at all the smiling faces at the surrounding tables.

“I'm going to be a grandmother!!” She announced loudly, taking a slight bow, and received another round of good wishes. She finally let me sit down. I buried my burning face in my teacup.

Mum’s happy smile stayed in place as she burbled on, asking the usual questions, how far along I am, when am I due, how do I feel, all that. Then she asked the hard questions, her face going serious again.

“And the father, Pixie?”

I grimaced. “Not in the picture, Mum. He wasn't a local and he won't be back. It was a one-time fling for both of us, but he's gone now. So it's just me and baby...” Mum sighed.

“You always do things the hard way, Pixie. I can't say I'm surprised. Are you okay with that? Raising a baby is hard, sweetheart. Raising a baby alone is going to be...”

“I know, Mum. This isn't necessarily how I would have chosen to do it,” I sighed. “Though it wouldn't have been my choice to settle down with a nice chap, get a puppy and eventually schedule having a baby, and have a five and 10 year plan like Hanna. That was never an option for me, but then I never thought having a surprise pregnancy was an option, either.” I covered my face, wincing.

“Oh God, Han is going to be furious with me! She's still a year out from her plan to have a baby, isn't she?” Mum winced, too. My sister Hanna could be a bit...rigid. And um, militant. She is not going to like me having a baby before she does, (especially) an unplanned one.

“Yes well, that's Hanna, everything according to plan! Anyway, you needn't worry about Hanna. You've always gone your own stubborn, independent way. No one has ever expected you to be hyper-organized like Hanna, we all know you better! But that doesn't mean that being a single mother will be easy. What can we do to help?”

My eyes filled with tears. Mum is a brick. She's always stood ready to help, to catch me if I falter, but she's never foisted her advice on me, never given me a hard time about my choices, or my independence.

***  
Mum and my sisters... They've been marvelous—mostly—popping ‘round to bring the occasional dinner or to take me shopping for baby things. They left me no time for brooding. Best of all, they didn't pester me about who the baby daddy was, nor even razz me about being a single mum. They had all laughed and accepted when my answer to the question about who fathered my baby was my offhand ‘oh he was donor number 362!’

Except Hanna, Hanna is the second oldest of us, but she acts like the oldest, always bossing everyone, right from when we were kids. Right now she’s vastly annoyed that I’m having an unplanned baby. She knows about my Endo, and about my infertility diagnosis, so I don’t know what her problem is. I finally had to ask her what she thought I ought to do about it, get an abortion and try to start over when it was more convenient for her? That shut her up right quick. Of course, now she’s not talking to me, either.

The rest are all over the moon for me, Mum and my other four sisters. Dad might be a little less chuffed, but to be fair, he's honestly worried about how difficult being a lone parent of an infant will be for me, not that he doubts my ability, bless him.

And young Robbie thinks he’s invented being an uncle. He's taken upon himself to paint the baby’s room, put together all the baby furniture, and baby-proof my house. We spent a messy weekend painting my tiny second room aqua, turquoise and white. Linnie is the artist in our family, and has promised a mural of Pooh, Tigger and the Hundred Acre Wood for the little bean’s room.

Robbie even came with me for my sonogram, and keeps a copy of my sonogram photo in his wallet. He observed that baby looked like a little bean, and henceforth my fetus has been called Bean. 

I'm the sixth sister, and yet somehow I'm the first of us to procreate, though two of us are married. I thought Alys, my oldest sister, and her wife Joanna would be the first, but Alys says not. She says they’re too happy the way they are, and neither of them wants kiddies of their own. Alys told me that they were quite happy to spoil Bean rotten and hand Bean back when the nappy is full!

Mum has been brilliant. She never doubted me for being determined to raise my baby myself, quite the opposite. She's cheered me on at every moment. When I told her that I fully intended to raise this baby myself, she’d beamed and told me I'd be a brilliant mum. 

I don't know what I did in a previous life to deserve my family. But I know that with them all in our corner, Bean and I will be just fine. Hanna will come around once she gets over being offended that I’m not going to run my life to her orders.

So I settled onto the new path my life had taken, by turns adventurous and tedious, comforting and terrifying. 

Robbie became my sort of unofficial business partner and dogsbody that fall and winter, coming around at the weekends to do any heavy lifting or repairs that my Old Girls needed on their little homes, or mine. Fortunately, with only three Old Girls at present I wasn’t too rushed. 

My little cottage was old and fairly snug, but it did have the odd draft or two, and the old radiators sometimes played up. Robbie astounded me by very competently replacing those with modern, baby safe central heating, put in some weathertight windows, and goodbye chilly drafts and cold stone floors! 

He sometimes stayed the night in Bean’s room, dossing in a bedroll on the floor. Most nights we just watched telly. He didn't understand why I cried through The Night Manager. 

Bloody hormones.

Not that I haven't loved being pregnant. Once I got over the initial exhaustion and queasiness, I found myself full of energy and optimism. My swelling belly might tip me over one day, but I’ve never felt so well!

Best of all, my GP has cleared me for a home birth, provided nothing looks dicky in the meantime. I adore my midwife. Valerie is so down to earth. And funny.

Robbie wants to take the childbirth classes with me. I'm not sure how I feel about that, being my baby brother and all... but he's so interested and excited, what more could I want? Mum will be there of course. 

Really, if it weren't for the second trimester increased libido and sex dreams, life would be nearly perfect.

I dreamed over and over of fucking and being fucked by Tom. Only Tom. And the damn dreams turned themselves into wet dreams, waking me in the throes of coming, body writhing on lonely sheets. Waking from dreams that taste of bergamot and chamomile on his lips... His voice, shredded silk in my ear crying out my name… 

Mornings that start your day with an orgasm ought to be a good thing, right? I found myself actually resenting Tom for making an appearance in my dreams, for fucking me well, and for waking me with an orgasm. How bloody ridiculous and sad is that?

So a day that starts with an orgasm is a day that starts with resentment, guilt, and shame. Because of course whatever my subconscious is doing to me is not Tom's fault. I missed him at first, but now? Now I just wish I could forget him. I do feel guilty that I've kept this from Tom. I liked him, and never wished him ill. And yet, here I was doing him an injustice.

I just had to keep reminding myself that Bean is my primary responsibility. And what he doesn't know, can't hurt him.

Bloody hormones.


	3. The Future is a Long Road with Many Paths

”Give over baby, dammit!".

I rubbed my distended belly, and a small foot struck my palm. I groaned.

"Please Bean, Mummy is serious. It's been three bloody nights, Mummy needs some sleep!"

Why did I ever think having a baby was a good idea? Month seven has been hell.

It had probably been longer than three nights. Bean seemed to be in constant motion at night. Occasionally Bean would lie still, but it seemed that every time I began to relax and drop off, they would wake and start pummeling me again. I thought that all this keeping Mummy awake thing wasn't supposed to start until after the kid was born! But here I am, here we are, only seven months along, and I'm so desperate for sleep that I can't think straight. God, what was I thinking to have this baby??

No! I pulled my head up with a jerk. I'm not going there. I want this child with every fiber of my being, for all Bean was unplanned, and utterly unexpected. I had lived with the idea of being infertile for so long that I still had difficulty believing I was pregnant.

Until Bean bounces on my bladder, or kicks all night long, of course. But now, here I find myself, somehow, impossibly pregnant at the age of 29, alone and desperate for just six consecutive hours of sleep.

My doorbell went. What the hell? I glanced at the clock on the wall from my seat on the sofa. God. Half eleven at night? Who do I know that would ring my bell without warning at this hour? The bell rang again. Oh god, maybe something awful has happened…

I heaved myself up from my unpretty sprawl on the sofa, pushing to my feet, swearing under my breath at the dizziness I get when I stand up too quickly, before staggering to the door and looking through the peep. 

Fuck me. It crossed my mind to just stay quiet, pretend I'm not here. Not open the door to all the possibilities that stood on my doormat. All the potential disaster… He pounded on the door, inches away from my head, and my head spun again.

"Dammit, Pix! Open the door!"

Oh, god. I yanked my door open without further thought, swaying in my dizziness. Tom stood there looking red faced and furious, then stunned, as he got a full look at me.

"Oh, Christ, it's true!" He gasped, his gaze weighing heavily on my belly. "Do you want to tell me why I had to hear about this from that utter bitch, Serena??"

I stood stupidly in the open doorway, taking in the face I never thought I'd see again. Well, not in real life, anyway. All my vision narrowed to his stubbled face, sparkling and wavering at the edges. I felt myself tilt, and one hand come up to clutch at reality, but it all slid away as I heard him cry, "No!"

...I swam upward, my consciousness undulating briefly before I came to, enough to understand the words, two hands holding mine, chafing my wrists.

"Pix. Pix girl, come back to me, love. I didn't mean to frighten you sweetheart, please come back..." I’d recognise that voice anywhere, though I’d never heard that level of anxiety in it.

I felt my eyelashes flutter against my cheeks, as I tried to pry my eyelids apart. I took a deep breath, and that snapped me back into full consciousness, I don't know if it was all the extra oxygen, but with that oxygen flavored with his scent I had no chance. And I desperately wished not to be awake for this next bit. I finally opened my eyes and was greeted with the sight of his worried face hovering over me. Dammit, why now?! I pushed my anxiety down and let annoyance come to the fore.

"What are you doing here, Tom?" I gritted out between my teeth.

He sat back on his heels next to the sofa and regarded me, laid out on the sofa, his gaze flickering over me and lingering on the swell of my belly. I tugged at the hem of my red tank top, self-consciously trying to cover the slice of exposed skin between my navel and my knickers that my top was too small to cover.

"I think the better question is what do you think you're doing, here? Why didn't you tell me, Pix?"

I was so not prepared to answer his questions, questions that I'd hoped to never be asked. I stared mutely back at Tom. My hands crept protectively over my belly. I don't want to hurt the man, but he can't have my baby! A wild surge of protectiveness overwhelmed me and I struggled to sit up. I felt as if he was looming over me, and I pushed my hands out toward him, warding him off, flinching away.

Tom's eyes flared with hurt, but then I could see determination come into his eyes, his jaw taking on a stubborn tilt.

"Pix."

That was all he said, and tears began to run down my face. His expression softened in an instant, and he gathered me to him, pulling me off the sofa onto his kneeling thighs, holding me, us, gently, stroking a big hand down my hair as I broke down completely.

"Shh, it's alright, darling. It's alright..." he murmured.

A sad laugh bubbled through my tears as I wept. Goddamned hormones. The only thing that is 'alright' about this is this baby, my baby. My miraculous, unexpected, impossible baby. I didn't choose to get pregnant, but I chose to have it, I chose to love it, and I will protect it, whatever comes. Nobody is going to mess with my kid, not even it's father.

Tom brought out a handkerchief, mopping my face. It's a good thing that I don't cry often, because I'm not a delicate crier. The tears finally slowed and stopped, and I pushed to move off his lap onto the floor beside him, hauling in a steadying breath.

“I think we need to talk,” Tom said softly. But I needed to be in control of this conversation.

"No, Tom...I don't answer to you. You're in my home. The question is still 'What are you doing here?' It must be pretty obvious that I didn't want you to know, so why did you come?? I changed my phone number so we wouldn't have to have this conversation." I crossed my arms defensively as I watched him realize that I hadn't accidentally lost his contact, that I'd deliberately avoided him.

"I ran into Serena Whitaker-Jones at a gala at the opera house in the city. She could hardly wait to tell me! Awful woman." He grimaced.

I laughed hollowly. Yep, that was Serena. Gossip bitch extraordinaire. I'd bumped into her recently, and she'd been all agog at my huge belly. I'd evaded all of her invasive questions, naturally. Most especially who the father is. So, to her, telling Tom that I'm pregnant was just a nasty piece of gossip about someone she knew to be a mutual acquaintance. She knew that her mum, Julia, had met Tom at Jamie’s pub while he was filming here. She’d seen the selfies of the two of them. And she’d been furious to find that she had been in the pub when he was there and her mother hadn’t introduced her. It was certainly never a secret.

I'm sure it had never occurred to her that I'd been sleeping with Tom, he being so far above me socially. To her, I was just her mother's servant. I don't understand how such a lovely woman as Julia could have raised such a social climbing viper, but there it is.

Tom drew in a breath through his nose, nostrils and mouth pinching, as I waited for his answer.

"I'm here because I worried about you, Pix! Is that so hard to believe after you disappeared so abruptly? And I'm here because I think...this is my child?" He reached to lay his hand on my belly, but I moved back, his fingertips barely brushing against my tank top as I escaped his touch.

"No, Tom," I said quietly, "This is my child." I laid my own hands protectively over my belly, and watched Tom's face fall, his body slump back against my sofa, hands limp and useless on his thighs, as he watched me sadly.

I sighed, resigned. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

I like Tom, I'm sorry to have hurt him, but now he knows, I suppose I ought to at least tell him why...

He ran a large hand through his hair. "Does it come with answers?" He looked at me with an odd combination of hope and determination.

"Well, now you know, I guess you deserve the rest. Come on."

He stood and grasped my elbows, lifting me to my feet, carefully making sure I was steady before stepping away. 

I laughed ruefully. "I'd have got there in the end, but thanks for your help."

Tom snorted but said nothing, just followed me into the kitchen, propping himself against the counter and folding his arms. Waiting.

I filled the kettle and set it heating, trying to decide how to start. 

“All I’ve got is a new pregnancy blend I’ve been experimenting with, is that okay?”

“Uh, sure? I guess.” Good, I had wrong-footed him.

I reached for mugs from the cupboard, but Tom reached over me and took them down, setting them next to me.

“Biscuits?”

“Thank you, no. I’m fine.” He shook his head, his eyes never leaving me.

I got them out anyway. I’m eating for two after all.

Finally though, the tea was brewed and poured and I had no more delaying tactics.

I set his tea down at his elbow and I took mine to sit at the table. 

Tom took a moment to uncross his arms and pick up his tea, coming to sit across from me. It wasn't until I watched him cross the floor that I registered his attire; beautiful tuxedo, his bowtie unknotted, and the top two buttons undone on a snowy white shirt. He looked beautiful in it, but it was just another reminder that we move in very different social circles. The closest thing that I have in my closet is a bridesmaid's dress that probably cost less than his shirt.

Tom sipped his cup. “Ginger?” he asked.

“Just a touch,” I nodded. “It helps with the nausea.”

“It’s very nice,” he favoured me with a warm smile and I realised how dangerous it was to be in his company. With him being all charming, it was hard to remember why I’d kept the pregnancy from him.

"I- just want to say first that I never meant to hurt you, Tom. What you didn't know couldn't hurt you, nor me either, come to that..."

"But why didn't you tell me?” he asked quietly. 

"In part because, once I found out, I panicked. This," I laid my hand on my belly, "is almost certainly the only child I will ever have, and I couldn't risk... Well, anyone else thinking that they had a say about whether or not I would have it. And I just didn't have the emotional resources to have a battle with you about it."

"But why would you think we'd have a battle? I mean, it would have been a shock of course, but why would I fight with you about it?" He looked genuinely puzzled.

"Because from the moment I realized that it was a possibility, I never had any intention of doing anything but raising this child. And Tom, we were...fuckbuddies for a fortnight. It was lovely, but you were consumed, are consumed by your career." I put my hand up to forestall him when he opened his mouth.

"I didn't—I don't—know you well enough to know how you'd react to the news, so I made a unilateral decision to keep it to myself.”

Tom burst out bitterly, "Yes, fuckbuddies. But darling, I was always open to more… Then you just disappeared from my life, and precluded any possibility for more, didn't you? You never gave me a chance..."

"Tom, you’re the one who left, remember? Off to Spain for months! Of course I never gave you a chance! This is my baby, Tom, and I will never take chances with it! For all I knew-“

Tom interrupted. "You said you were on birth control. Did you lie to me?" he asked very directly. His jaw muscle jumped as he waited for my answer.

"Yes. No... Not exactly." I shook my head in exasperation. "I was supposed to be infertile. I’ve had endometriosis since I was a teen, and had supposedly hopelessly blocked fallopian tubes. That’s what my surgeon told me when I was sixteen anyway. I've never needed birth control. Just condoms for disease prevention. When that condom broke it never even occurred to me that I'd get pregnant!”

Tom face went red as he sat across from me. I wished I knew what was going on in his head. He took a deep breath, and turned up his palm on the table next to me, plainly inviting me to put my hand in his. I regarded it for a moment. I didn’t really want to make more of an emotional connection with him.

I wanted him to tell his experience so he could get it out of his system and move on with his life, and Bean and I could move on with ours. But I glanced up at his face, and I could see that he wasn't so much offering comfort, as asking for it. It's not really in me to ignore anyone who asks for kindness. So I set my hand in his and let him curl his long fingers around it, engulfing my hand and squeezing it lightly. He sighed.

"I'm sorry, Tom. This just seemed the best of all bad options." We sat silently, each with our thoughts, slowly drinking our tea.

He stirred. "I thought," he said, "when you stopped answering my texts, that you'd just decided that you'd had enough. I was… angry that you didn't have the decency to tell me you were done. I thought that I'd seriously misjudged you, and tried to tell myself that I was well away. But Pix, I've never stopped thinking of you. I liked you very much, and I missed you terribly. I… I'm sorry you've had to go through all this alone. I should have come back here sooner, tried harder to find you..."

His other hand covered mine and rubbed lightly. I'd expected anger, so I was a bit thrown by this sadness. My eyes welled up. Damn hormones. Every emotion is accompanied by tears these days. I cry at everything, telephone company adverts, lost puppies, the wrong color socks… and apparently, Baby Daddies Just Finding Out.

"I still don't really understand, Pix. Did you think I would shout at you? Or hurt you?" I glanced up to see him watching his fingers stroking mine, his own eyes distinctly damp.

"Well, yes, I thought you'd be angry. I thought that you'd, I don't know, be suspicious that I got pregnant after assuring you that I wouldn't. I was afraid you'd think I was trying to trap you, or, or hold you up for..." I couldn’t even bring myself to say it. Money. Isn't that what rich film stars do to buy themselves out of trouble? Isn't that what some women do? I wouldn't put it past that cunt Serena, for an instant...

I found myself ashamed for thinking that Tom would be one of those men. But I seriously couldn't take the risk that he was. Because it wasn't just my heart I was protecting, it was my child's. How could I open him or her up to a possibly angry, vindictive father? Or worse, a father who might only want to use my child as public relations to bolster his image. I felt terrible for not giving Tom the benefit of the doubt, but the fact is that I simply didn’t know him well enough.

And now I could see he was bewildered. And hurt. I knew I’d misjudged him. I wanted to explain all this to him, but the damn tears got in the way, clogging my throat.

Tom abruptly slid out of his chair, onto the floor at my knee, looking up at me with a pleading look, his hands hovering at my sides,

"Please, Pix? May I please feel?" I could hear his heart in his throat.

I didn’t know if I had the right to take that risk for my child, I thought. If this had happened in other circumstances, I probably would have been deliriously happy to be deliriously happy with him...

I stopped his words with my fingers on his lips. "Tom, don't...don't fall in love with this baby. I can't promise that..."

"Oh, Pix," he breathed, "too late. It was too late the moment I saw you." His arms came 'round my middle, and he laid his head in my lap, his cheek resting on the swell of my belly. My hands came helplessly to his hair, stroking the soft gingery curls, offering comfort to the man I think he is, the man I hope he is.

We stayed this way for so many minutes that I couldn't help a small, bitter laugh at the fact that Bean was at last quiet enough for me to finally get some sleep, but sleep is the very last thing I'll be able to do after this. So many, many things to think about, to worry over, to feel guilty for, to figure out, the future of three people in my hands. My laugh ended in a small sob.

Tom raised his head at that and studied my face. After another moment, he brushed his hand along my cheek. "Please...," he took a shaking breath, "promise me Pix, that whatever happens, you’ll give me a chance? I can see that you love this child," he ran his hand over my belly, "and that you want whatever is best for them. You need to know that I want that too. I understand that you need to be convinced that it's best for the baby to let me into your lives. But, this...this is my child too, and my responsibility too, and I will not walk away unless you can convince me that it's in their best interest not to have me for a father."

This...this is why I ran. Because I’m afraid. I don't know if I can share my child and risk…everything.


	4. Flexibility is Strength

I stared into those lovely, intense blue eyes, thinking I should be terrified. But confronted with the reality of Tom, how could I be afraid? 

Bean chose that moment to wake and stretch, little feet pushing and rippling the skin on the left side of my belly. Tom stared, his mouth falling open as his eyes tracked the motion across my belly.

"Oh my God, Pix..." Tears welled in his eyes as he reached a shaking hand out to lay over the movement in my belly. This time I let him, holding still and watching him. His attention was riveted by the movement under his palm, staring in wonder, laughing when baby's other foot pushed out a few inches away, as if teasing Tom into a game of chase the foot. A game I have often played with Bean. My heart clenched in pain to see Tom's wonder and delight.

I tried to shove all my fears to the side. He wants me to promise to share my decision-making with him? Not without a promise of his own. I waited, but Tom seemed content to kneel on the floor, playing with my belly forever.

"Okay Tom, that's enough." I said quietly. He looked up sharply at me, his mouth opening to object before he snapped it shut and nodded sheepishly. With one last caress over the protruding little foot, he sat back in his chair and swiped his hand over his eyes to dry them. He drew a deep shaking breath.

Staring at the table to compose himself, he let the breath out slowly as he picked up his neglected cup of tea and waited on my words.

"Tom... do you have any idea what you'd be injecting into your life? Parenting is not a part-time job..." I picked up my tea and sipped the cold liquid. Bean thumped me from inside. _Very_ much not a part-time job. A muscle in his jaw jumped as his lips compressed.

"Of course not! I am actually taking this seriously you know, Pix," he growled. I could see him trying not to roll his eyes.

I narrowed my eyes at him, needing to drive my point home.

"So tell me Tom, what was your schedule like in the last month?" 

He blew out a breath as he sat back, spreading his hands on the table in front of him, his eyes not leaving mine. Nan’s old clock ticked loudly in the silence.

"That's hardly fair, Pix. You can't judge my ability to be a good parent by my schedule last month, or any month! I didn't have any reason _not_ to book as many jobs as I could!" He looked exasperated.

"No, you're right. I can't judge your ability to be a parent based on your schedule... but _you_ can. Think, Tom!” I pled with him. “What would you realistically have to change in order to be here for the baby? Your life, your career, _everything_ would change! All your other relationships, friends, family, work, everything would change! Because I won't accept anything less than _everything_ for my child. It's all or nothing, Tom. You want to be part of the baby’s life? Well, this is the _least_ of what you have to figure out! It's not how you are going to fit a baby into your schedule. It's about fitting your schedule to the baby."

I sighed, slumping in my chair, burying my face in my folded arms, calming myself, before sitting up. 

“Look,” I sighed. “First things first, right? I’m sure we can work out the details later, if necessary. Just…take some time to contemplate the kinds of changes in your life that would happen if you suddenly had a baby to care for, will you please?”

Tom's eyes went distant and at last I could see he was thinking, _truly_ thinking and not just reacting. I pushed myself to stand, reaching for our tea cups, intending to leave him to it. I stood still for a moment, a small groan coming from me as my lower back protested once again accepting the weight of my belly. I grimaced and closed my eyes as my body and my blood pressure adjusted to standing. Goddess, I was so _tired..._

"What? Pix? _Steady on! Are you all right??"_ Tom sounded alarmed as he stood and reached for me, taking the teacups from my hands and setting them down again on the table with a clatter as one hand held my elbow, stabilising me.

I sighed and stepped back, stubbornly not accepting his help. I don't need it. What I _need_ is a good solid night's sleep. And he can't help me with that.

"Nothing, Tom." I tried to smile reassuringly. "It's just a lot of baby to carry 24/7. I'm not sleeping too well, is all. I'm fine." I reached for the teacups again. Tom beat me to it as I stood surprised.

"Sit down, love. I've got them." He took our cups back to the counter. I shrugged and sighed wearily.

"D'you want another cup of tea?" he asked over his shoulder. I shook my head and laughed ruefully.

"What I want is a solid eight hours sleep... think you can nip down to Tesco to get that for me?"

Tom turned and studied me, wiping his hands on a tea towel. His voice was matter of fact.

"You're pale and the circles under your eyes look like someone blacked them. No offense darling, but you look like shit."

I laughed hollowly.

"If I weren't so damn tired, I’d jump up and punch you right in the knee for that! That's a fine way to speak to the mother of your—" I cut myself off abruptly, turning my face away, stricken at my gaffe and struggling not to let tears fall.

Damned hormones…

"Right." Tom tossed the tea towel onto the counter decisively and strode over to me, scooping me out of my chair and into his arms, carrying me toward my bedroom.

"Tom! I can walk! You don't have to—" I squawked indignantly.

"Pix darling, this one time I do have to! I can see you're so tired that I'd be afraid to put a bowl of soup in front of you for fear you'd drown in it!" His arms tightened around me as he climbed the stairs. "I know you're not a child, but anyone can see you need help!" He nudged my bedroom door open with his foot. "I won't just stand there and watch you fall on your nose!" He carried me through to the bathroom and set me gently on my feet in front of the sink.

"Now brush your teeth and get ready for bed!" He admonished me, and then made a face, saying uncertainly, "Do you need...anything?" I rolled my eyes, but I was too tired to argue.

"No Tom, I can manage to clean my teeth and pee all by myself. You can go away now.” 

He nodded shortly and stepped out, pulling the door shut behind him. I leaned against the vanity and let my breath out.

"Bean, what have I gotten us into?" I muttered at my belly as I tiredly—how else?— reached for my toothbrush.

Finished, I nearly crawled back to my bed, surprised to find that Tom had turned my bed down and left my favorite sleeping tee on the bed for me. When did he figure out that it was my favourite, and why on earth would he remember? 

I shook my head and admonished myself. _He's a nice man and hasn't done anything wrong at all_. He sure didn’t deserve all this, and me being a bitch on top of it… I gulped back tears again.

I stripped off and yanked the tee shirt over my head, flipping the bedside light off and climbing into my bed with a long sigh, tucking a pillow between my knees and waiting for the rock 'n roll band in my belly to start up. 

I heard a noise and jerked my eyes open. Tom was setting a cup of water down on my bedside table, his tuxedo shirt unbuttoned and gaping over his beautiful body, belt undone and dangling from its loops. Goddess, what _now?_

I was seconds away from asking him what the hell he thought he was doing, when I shut my mouth. Poor Tom had had a very rough day and looked it. I was more than slightly ashamed of how hard I’d been on him. I didn’t really have it in me to turn him out. I’d had a rough day too, come to that.

Tom stooped and gently kissed my forehead, sealing the deal. If he can still be kind to me after all that, then I could return kindness to him.

"Sleep now." He whispered and stood, sliding out of his shirt and trousers, down to his boxer briefs. Slipping into the bed behind me, he tucked the blanket up and curled around my back, his hand resting on tummy. I didn't have enough left to protest, so I just closed my eyes.

For a wonder, baby slept and so I did too, slipping into a deep and dreamless sleep…

Baby woke me in the wee hours as usual, kicking on my bladder. I groaned, desperate to go back to sleep, but knowing that I had no choice but to drag myself to the toilet.

My eyes flew open when a warm arm tightened over me at my grumbling. _What!?_ Oh. Tom. Dear Goddess, what have I _done?_

I pushed his arm off me and wallowed out of the bed, looking down at him in the dim light from the partially open door of the loo. He snuffled in some troubled way, stirring to clutch my pillow, but didn’t wake. I sighed.

I went to relieve myself, coming back to my bed and watching him warily, wondering how to get back into my bed without waking him.

I mentally slapped myself. It wasn’t my job to worry about him. My only concernwas Bean. I didn't invite him, so he could just lump it! Crawling back into bed, I ruthlessly pulled my pillow away from him, grumbling to myself.

“Mmph?” A pause. And then he lurched up, his eyes flying open in panic. I flinched back.

“Pix? Are you okay?” He reached toward me, his eyes blinking rapidly, obviously forcing himself awake. I shook my head. I will not let his automatic concern melt my determination to be grouchy about being forced out of bed to pee.

“I'm fine,” I said shortly. “I just got up to pee.” I pulled my pillow close, lying on my side and facing away from him.

I felt Tom relax back into the bed and then move to curl around me from behind. Nope. I nudged him with my elbow.

“Move over please. And can you hand me another pillow?” 

Tom sat up.

“How many?” He asked matter-of-factly. I blinked, taken aback at his abrupt return to fully functioning alertness.

“Um, two?”

Very shortly I found myself on my other side, facing him, with a pillow in my arms, one under my belly and one between my knees, exactly as I needed them.

“There you are, love. Is there anything else I can get you?” he asked as he laid down next to me, his breath ruffling the top of my hair and an arm curled around me.

“We really have to talk in the morning.” I muttered over a yawn. He chuckled very quietly.

“In the morning. Sleep now.” I felt his lips in my hair, leaving a kiss. I sighed, and closed my eyes, feeling comforted and drowsy. Miraculously, baby let me sleep.

My alarm went off, jarring us both awake. I groaned, throwing my blanket off.

“Pix?” Tom mumbled.

“I have to work...” I clumsily rolled myself out of bed and trundled into the bath.

I stood under the hot spray of the shower, my hands spread on the tile, neck bowed, water pounding down, letting the heat sink into my back and loosen my muscles for another long day of work. At least I’d finally got some sleep!

I contemplated an entirely unplanned for new future. I am a person who craves stability and belonging. The predictability of my days, of moving around my familiar village, of doing the same things each day for my Old Girls, is comfortable and comforting.

I knew the first time I set eyes on Tom that he was the kind of person to be a catalyst, someone who spreads energy and change. I knew he would change me… and goddess knows I was right! My hands dropped down to caress the upper curve of my belly. 

He changed my life, utterly turned it upside down in a wholly unexpected way. But in a way that both delighted and terrified me, and I would not go back and change that for love nor money!

And now here he is again. I finally got to adjust and feel comfortable with my changed circumstances, learning to be capable in my new reality. And yet here he is once again, wanting to change my life in ways I can't even imagine yet.

If it was just me, I might be curious to see... but it's not just me. And it's not just my life he wants to change. I cannot see into the future, cannot see Bean’s life path, but I know that the calm, mindful, secure life I had planned would take a wildly different path if I let Tom back into our lives. _Path?_ Try racecourse! I snorted, blowing droplets of water off my lips and nose.

I felt like an on/off switch. Three people's lives in my hands; turn the switch on and unknowable energy will infuse all our lives. Keep the switch to off, and preserve the status quo, all our lives to continue on their current paths, Tom's to be the world renowned actor, footloose and fancy free as Mum would say. Him gallivanting around the world, and Bean and I continuing on safely as we are. 

So, while I know my life will hold untold challenges once Bean is born, I know that at least we will have the stability of our small village and and the love and support of our family and friends. And Bean would be able to grow and become who they are, without the unpredictability of the whole celebrity world bendingtheir growth.

An image of trees rose in my imagination, one a strong and true oak, growing straight and proudly tall, sturdy branches reaching for the sky and sun, roots strong and deep in the earth. The other tree is wind swept, twisted and turned like those trees clinging to the cliff tops overlooking the ocean, pushed and pulled by the prevailing winds, the footing constantly eroded by the unpredictable elements of the world. And yet. Those trees too are strong and flexible, fiercely tenacious, able to cope with, and survive, every storm thrown their way.

Tom is definitely such a storm, and yet there is no malice in him...

The shower opened and Tom stepped in behind me, wrapping arms around me, his body curving over and around me. He's so much larger than I am. I ought to feel intimidated and overwhelmed by him, but I don't. I never have. I feel cherished and cared for in a way that is not in the least childlike. And that I had missed terribly these last few months, if I’m honest.

Tom silently picked up my shower gel and began to wash me with gentle long strokes. I moaned with pleasure as his thumbs massaged the back of my neck, releasing the tension from my shoulders, lifting my hands to run down my arms and sides, he knelt to wash me from my feet up, long soapy fingers gliding on slick skin to my belly, swirling around and over. He rested his forehead on my navel in a moment of silent communication with his child.

I knew then that it was too late. It would be too cruel to deny him the chance to know his child. 

Bean thumped him in the forehead and he jumped, leaning back and staring wide-eyed at my belly. I laughed at his expression and broke the spell.

“Come on you, get washed,” I said with a grin and reached for my shampoo, a semblance of my normal good humor restored. “I'm hungry, and I know you do a good line in beans on toast!” 


	5. Just When the Caterpillar Believes the World is Ending

“Have a seat, Pix dear, there's a girl.”

I looked up at Julia, only then becoming conscious that she'd been sitting primly in her chair, watching me potter about, the way a cat focuses on a mouse hole.

Back straight, hands folded in her lap, and ankles crossed, she looked at me steadily with her head tilted in curiosity and determination.

I set the last of her dry dishes in the drainer, and automatically wiped my hands on the tea towel before hanging it to dry. I went and perched on the edge of the chair opposite her.

“What can I do for you, Julia?” I asked brightly.

“You can tell me what on earth has upset you so badly today.” Her eyes had a steely glint in them.

I felt the wind go out of my sails, and slumped as the thing that I’ve been trying to push away all day jumped up and waved in my face.

“He’s back,” I whispered, smoothing a hand over my belly. Bean had picked up on my agitation, and had been thumping around in there the entire morning while I'd been doing light housework for the Old Girls.

“He? Oh, _he!_ You mean dear Tom, don't you,” she looked enlightened and delighted. I dropped my face into my hands.

“How did you...? I never said it was Tom.” I mumbled through my fingers.

“Well what other ‘he’ would you be fretting over but the father of your child?”

“Wait. I never said he was the _father_ , either!”

She looked pityingly at me over her reading glasses. “I _can_ count you know! Besides, I don’t think he’s the sort at all to run away in these circs!”

I threw my hands away in exasperation, but they soon drew back to my belly, spreading across the curve protectively. “I wish he had. Everything would be so much simpler.” I grimaced. “Julia,” I said plaintively, “He has complete power over me, if he wants to use it, you know. He could take my child from me...”

“Well.” She said calmly, touching her lips with a thoughtful forefinger. “That seems a bit melodramatic, dear. Do you really think that's likely?”

The muscles in my throat briefly seized, making it impossible to swallow or breathe for a moment as her words penetrated. My hands clenched, nails digging into my palms.

“Physically? Not really.” I shook my head, knowing for certain that Tom wouldn’t do _that_. “But, dear God Julia, how could I ever compete with... _him?_ Letting him into our lives... if he chose to, he could...” I squeezed my eyes shut, imagining all the chaos he could inject into our lives. “He could take Bean away from me emotionally, holding out all that glitter and glamour... and that charming smile? _I_ wouldn't stand a chance...” 

Julia snorted delicately.

“Are you listening to yourself, Pix? You've decided that you can't ‘compete’ with the father of your child? How is it that you need to _compete?”_

“I don’t...” my hands clutched convulsively around my belly, heart thumping rapidly in my chest. I drew in a shaking breath.

She stood abruptly, marching into the small kitchen and putting tea things together on a tray.

That. That was what I was afraid of. Tom coming back into my --our— lives, andturning everything upside down. _Again_. It was _easy_ to envision Tom as the sun around which Bean’s—our—lives would revolve...

Julia sat opposite me and calmly prepared a cup of tea, passing it to me. I took it automatically, staring into the fragrant golden brown depths, watching the steam curl off its surface as I fought back ridiculous tears. I was vaguely aware of her fixing her own cup and taking a careful sip before setting her cup down and passing me the plate of biscuits.

“Eat, love. Baby needs the calories.”

My eyes came up to her soft blue ones.

“What am I going to do, Julia?” I asked despairingly as I picked up a biscuit, clutching it in my hand.

“How...” I swallowed, “how could he possibly change his life to be the stable father my child needs? How could I even _ask_ that of him? And Bean... how could I allow the chaos and celebrity of his life to to invade my child's life?”

She sat sipping her tea, pursing her lips in thought before setting her cup down firmly.

“You know, in all of this I see you looking after what you think is good for Tom and best for baby.” She shrugged. “It's what mothers do. But darling Pix, you’ve forgotten about yourself. In the best of all worlds, what do you want for _you?”_

_“Me??”_ I laughed bitterly. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Her eyes softened even more, looking at me with something akin to pity.

She leaned forward, gathering my hands in hers and looking at me earnestly.

“One thing I’ve learned in my life, darling girl, is that you can't give happiness unless you, yourself, are happy. And that means reaching for your happiness... What would make you happy, Pix?”

My eyes began to swim as my imagination pushed a vision before me of a tranquil scene, holding my—our—child in my arms, Tom's arm around us both, his lips in my hair and tiny fingers curled around his forefinger.

“It's not about me, Julia,” I said, tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Oh darling, of course it is! How could you raise a happy child if you are not happy?”

I pulled my hand from her grasp, and sitting back, I lashed out.

“Oh, is (that) how you produced Serena? By attending to your happiness first??” 

She smiled sadly.

“Oh god, Julia, I didn’t mean that! I’m sorry! Please...”

“No darling. Serena is a product of my _un_ happiness. Frantically trying to attend to everyone's needs and putting my own last... When Serena was fifteen, my mother was slipping away into dementia and I... I thought that only (I) could save her. I refused to accept help, trying to do everything for her myself, because she was frightened of strangers, you see. I was so wrapped up in Mother, in sacrificing myself for her, that I didn't notice that I was sacrificing my husband and daughter too...” she took a deep breath, a tear trickling down her weathered cheek.

“You mustn’t disregard your own needs, your own happiness in service of another. _You_ won't be the only one who pays the price. You cannot give happiness if you are unhappy. But by God, you can certainly give misery if you are miserable... Don't do that to yourself dear girl, or you will eventually do it to the ones you love.” She delicately blotted the tears off her face with the lace handkerchief she pulled from her sleeve.

“So think, love. What do you need? Do you want Tom or not? And not just because it will make your life easier to have a co-parent. Trouble shared is trouble halved, love. And joy shared is joy doubled.”

I sat, stunned to be reminded of my early conversation with Tom.

I spent the rest of the afternoon mulling over my conundrum with Tom, but by the time I finished my errands I still didn’t have any answers. I needed talk things over with Jamie. And I _still_ hadn’t told him who Bean’s father was. Is. Oh goddess... He hadn’t pressed me when I told him I was up the duff, he’d just accepted that I was going to raise Bean on my own, and became my pillar.

I called my best friend and told him straight out that the Baby Daddy was back in town. Bless him, he gave me the answer that I needed.

“Sweetling, you come right over here and we’ll have a cuppa and a good chat!” 

I hesitated. But Mum was doing evening rounds tonight, and she'd help Maggie into her nightgown and get her tucked up. Recently Maggie’s shoulder had been playing up. She could do just about anything for herself, except reach her arm over her head and… 

Why am I distracting myself with all that? I sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. I needed some time to get my head straight.

“Thanks, Jams. I'll be there in a few.” I tucked my mobile into my pocket, hitched my bag on my shoulder and set off to Jamie's, three streets away. It was a crisp and cold evening, and I wrapped my cape around myself, happy to have it to ward off the chill. It had been Dad's joke to give me a red wool cape with a hood two years ago for Christmas. It's a good job too, my other coat wouldn’t close around my middle any longer!

Minutes later I was at the little gate to Jamie's tiny front garden, when the door opened and tall, blonde Paul stepped out, pulling his peacoat on.

He grinned at me, all white teeth and cheerful nature.

“Whatever you said to him has put him in a right tizzy, darling!” He grinned at me, as he reached up and settled his collar. “Good luck with that! I'm off to Tesco, can I bring you anything?”

I smiled back halfheartedly.

“No thanks – Oh, wait…” I rapidly changed my mind. “Yes! Bring back the biggest chocolate bar you can find, right?”

Paul chuckled. “Excellent idea! Hmm, is that to protect me, or you, from Jamie's reaction?” I grimaced and groaned. 

“He told you, already?” I rubbed my forehead, wondering if I should steal Jamie's mobile to prevent him spreading the news far and wide. Paul smiled as he draped an arm over my shoulders and squeezed.

“Oh yes.” He smirked down at me, his warm, dark eyes sparkling with mischief. Reaching into the pocket of his peacoat, he pulled out a mobile, waggling it at me. Jamie's mobile.

“You know him well!” I reached up and pulled his head down, laying my cheek against his and rubbing lightly. My thoughts returned to my worries. I hope Jamie will forgive me for not telling him about Tom sooner.

“Ugh Paul,” I leaned my forehead on his chest and hugged him hard round the waist, his arms around me. “If things don't work out with me and Jamie, will you be my new best gay boyfriend?” I muttered into his chest, feeling it move in a chuckle. Paul returned my hug.

“Of course I will, darling! But don't give up on him just yet. He might surprise you!” Paul paused. “You know he loves you, and he wouldn't shout at you if he didn’t care, right?” I nodded. I do know that.

“Cheers, Paul. Thanks for being so… so good to my boy!” Paul’s wicked smile broke over his face.

“It’s a terrible job, but somebody has to do it!” He snapped his teeth suggestively, and we both broke into giggles.

“Right! Chin up!” Paul ticked my chin and dropped a kiss on my forehead. He stepped around me, strode through the gate, and down the lane to his car.

I blew out a breath and started up the walk. The door yanked open, and Jamie stood vibrating with barely suppressed emotion on the step. I knew the more he thought on it, the more incensed he would be that I had refused to tell him about Bean’s Baby Daddy before now.

I followed Jamie inside and he took my cape. Hanging it on the peg, he knelt and pulled my shoes off in a practiced routine.

“Go, sit.” Jamie directed me to my usual spot on his sofa, lifting my legs into the cushions and tucking a small pillow behind me for support. As if everything were still normal.

“Tea and biscuits will set you right. Or…” his eyes narrowed suspiciously at me, raking me head to foot, “have you had anything to eat?”

Jamie knows me well, knows that I usually have a hard time eating when I'm upset. However, since Bean took up residence, I've been pretty conscientious about eating. I could hardly do otherwise, given the Old Girls pressing food on me at every opportunity. I'm not waddling yet, but I can sense the day is not far off.

Jamie brought me a mug of my own pregnancy tea blend. He sat on the sofa, picking up my legs and pulling my feet into his lap, massaging them. I groaned.

“Blessings on your head, my son…” I sighed. “What would I do without you?”

“Heaven only knows!” He shook his head wryly, nimble fingers pressing into my arch and thumbs massaging my instep firmly. Oh, bliss…

“So? Are you going to tell me? Baby Daddy is back and wants to be back in your life? What's the problem? And are you going to tell me who he is at last?”

Oh Goddess. I nodded, feeling myself blush as I stared down into my lap at my twisting fingers.

“Um, it’s Tom.”

Jamie's eyebrows creased as he frowned.

“Tom? Tom who? I don't remember you dating any Toms…” he puzzled, suddenly sitting up straight. “Dear god, you _can't_ mean Tom Carter?! That _old_ bloke who spreads muck on the fields and comes into the pub straight from a hard days’ work??”

Tom Carter is the only ‘Tom’ in the village of even remotely appropriate age and marital status. I laughed at Jamie's horror. Anyone over 30 is _ancient_ , according to Jamie. I can't wait to see how he's going to deal when he turns 30 next year.

“Hiddleston, Jamie. It's Tom Hiddleston…”

“Son of a bitch!” Jamie bolted upright. “I'll murder that prick!”

“James Alexander Merritt, shut it!” I shouted over him. “You are not to murder anyone! Remember, I want this baby! I am _over the moon_ about this baby! You are _not_ allowed to murder my baby’s father!” I shook a menacing finger at him and scowled.

“Alright, fine! You’re no fun at all, anymore!” 

Jamie flopped back in he seat, shaking his head. “Girl…” he sat staring at me with a _'what are we going to do with you’_ look.

“I know.” I sighed.

“Okay, give it up girlfriend. Spill!”

I launched into the tale of my fortnight with Tom, including the broken condom.

“I can't believe you didn't tell me!”

“Jamie darling, I love you to bits. But you haven't kept a secret since the day you learned to talk!” I scrunched my face at him guiltily. “I didn't.. _.want_ to share. Not even with you. We both went into our little fling knowing that's all it would be. Tom was off to Spain soon…we kept in touch for a while, texting off and on, but … we both got busy with our own lives, and when I found out that I was up the duff…” I bit my lip and worried at my cuticles.

“What did he say when you told him?” Jamie's eyes narrowed.

“Ummm…" I could feel the heat crawling up my face.

_“What?!”_ Jamie demanded. I cleared my throat.

“I, erm, didn't exactly tell him, did I?”

Jamie's hands froze on my ankles.

“You…what? You didn't tell him?!” Jamie's voice climbed higher. _“For fuck’s sake, Pix! Why ever not??”_

My hands found my belly protectively.

“I couldn't chance it, Jamie! What if he was angry? What if he thought I got pregnant deliberately, just to trap him? What if he wanted to fight me about even having the baby?” Tears welled up in my eyes and I brushed them away impatiently, sniffling. 

“He was gone and well away! What he didn't know couldn't hurt him, could it? Or me…” I hung my head, whispering. “I never expected to see him again, so why upset either of us? It's my baby, my responsibility. I never thought I'd ever have a child, and I never had any intention of doing _anything_ but having it!”

When I looked up Jamie had stiffened, all expression leaving his face. He stared at me as if I were a complete stranger, his eyes dead cold. No, he would’t even look at a stranger like this. This was worse. 

I watched Jamie's expression slowly morph into his angry face. I've only seen him get seriously angry four or five times, in all the years we've known each other, so I'm unlikely to forget what he looks like. And, I remember now, I've only ever seen him get truly angry on someone _else's_ behalf.

I just never expected Jamie's anger to be on _Tom's_ behalf. Or for me to be the target of his ire. To say I was shaken would be an understatement. He stared coldly at me. I could barely breathe.

“Who even _are_ you?” he demanded.

A clearly horrifying thought flashed through his eyes. “He didn't force himself on you, did he?” Jamie demanded harshly. “Everything was consensual, right?”

“Of course it was! I can take care of myself, you know!” I felt slightly offended, and then ashamed for being offended. I could feel my face heating.

Jamie just sat there, slumped back in his chair and shook his head, staring at me.

“Pix, I have to assume that you like the man... given that you slept with him more than once. But I must say, you've done a bloody poor job of respecting him.”

. I sat watching as Jamie’s disappointment in me gutted me. I could barely breathe.

I had ignored that the corollary to ‘What Tom doesn't know can't hurt him’ , is ‘If Tom finds out, he _will_ be hurt’. I hadn’t even considered how _Jamie_ would feel about me not telling Tom. Jamie himself had been raised by a loving single mum. I guess I assumed that he’d be fine with it.

Jamie stood abruptly and turned his back to me. I watched his hands come up to scrub his face roughly. After a moment he turned back to me. On me.

I sat blinking away tears, gutted at Jamie’s disappointment in me. I couldn’t think of anything to say. I just stared at him.

“Come on, I'll walk you home,” he said gruffly.

Which he always does after dark. Neither of us spoke on the short walk back to my cottage. I could barely bring myself to look at him, never mind speak.

I shivered. The one person who had understood me, and comforted me, stared at me as if I were a stranger. A dull sort of misery welled up in my throat, tightening it painfully. I felt bereft.

Jamie walked me right up to my door and waited as I fished out to my keys and unlocked the door. Then he turned away without another word.

I dragged in my front door, letting my keys fall listlessly from my fingers into the pretty blue bowl on the table near the door, and let my bag thump to the floor.

I was exhausted by the last 24 hours whipsawing emotions, the confrontation with Tom, the conversation with Julia, and then the ticking off that Jamie had just delivered me with very few words, it was all just _too much._

I stood slump-shouldered in my entry, thinking that all I wanted was a quick meal and my bed. Bean might keep me awake all night, banging around in there, but at least nobody will be telling me what an absolute fuckup I've been.

Not that any of them had been as horrible as I deserved... None of them had actually been as horrible to me, as they should, really…

But it was all too much right then. I yearned for silence, desperately needed everything and everyone to _just shut up._ Including my own inner voices. I just bloody _can't_ anymore tonight.

“Pix...?” Tom walked in from my kitchen, holding a sheaf of papers and regarding me worriedly. I somehow hadn't expected him to be here, in my house. I guess I thought that he’d have gone off to…do his thing, whatever that was. Of course, I _had_ shown him where I keep my spare key. I sucked in air and tried to stand straight, bracing myself for the _next_ bloody thing.

But the air I sucked in came back out in a whimpering sob. My knees buckled and I landed on the floor gracelessly, my hands automatically thrust out, slapping stingingly on the cool stone floor, catching myself before falling onto my belly. I couldn’t, _simply couldn’t_ take one more thing... and _Tom_ was one more thing.

_“Pix!”_ Papers flew through the air, fluttering down around us as Tom dove for me, scooping me up and over balancing himself, landing with a thump on his backside, with me in his lap, clinging to his neck and sobbing into the soft T-shirt stretched over his chest.

“What's wrong, Pix? Are you all right? Is Bean alright?” His hands were frantically patting me all over, checking me for injuries. I clung tighter, shuddering all over.

“Just _don't_. Don't talk... _please,_ just...” I managed to plead, “no more today...”

Tom stopped patting me down, and his arms went around me securely. His body curled around me protectively.

“Alright love, alright. No more tonight...” he crooned into my hair, rocking me in his arms as I just gave up and let myself sob my overwhelming misery into his chest, soaking the front of his shirt. I know I’m being ridiculously hormonal, but that only makes the tears worse.

At some point, Tom levered us both off the floor and carried me up to my bed. He sat me on the edge and wiped my face with a tissue, and carefully undressed me. He glanced around and then pulled his own T-shirt off, gathering it at the neck and dropping it over my head. He pulled my arms through the sleeves and shoveled me into bed. Sliding into the bed next to me, Tom pulled my head onto his shoulder, stroking his hand down my spine rhythmically and crooning to me as I cried.

I gave myself over to the catharsis of crying, until my sobs finally trailed off into the odd hiccup, and I was utterly wrung and limp. Tom lifted the hem of the T-shirt that he’d put on me, gently wiping my face and mopping his chest of my accumulated tears.

I lay on my side, my head on his chest listening to the reassuring thump of his big heart, and letting the silence in the in-between spaces fill my head and calm me.

Hiccuping again, my belly echoed the spasm where it lay propped against Tom's side. His hand slipped down and stroked my belly as my belly lurched again and again. 

I groaned. Dammit, I was so comfortable as I was, for the first time in ages, and I so didn't (want) to move. But I dutifully gathered myself and pushed up.

“I have to move, roll over or something.” I croaked, my head still stuffed, my throat hoarse and eyes raw. “Lying in one spot for so long has given Bean hiccups...”

Toms lips curled into a small smile. Helping me to sit up, he stroked the damp hair off my forehead.

“Have you eaten?” His voice was quiet and soothing. I shook my head tiredly.

“No...”

Tom took charge, and what's more, I let him take care of me without even thinking to protest about doing it myself.

“Right,” he said quietly, “let's get you into a dry shirt and then I'll bring you something to eat.”

I nodded and started to wearily clamber out of bed, but Tom's big hand urged me back down.

“No, love. You stay put.” Tom stood and disappeared into the bath. Returning with a cup of water, he helped me sit up and wrapped my hands around it.

“Drink up, love. You need to replace all those tears...”

I did need the water. I hadn't realized until the cool water flowed into my mouth, how parched I was. A sip turned into gulps, and I guzzled the whole cup right down, actually gasping for air as I finished.

Tom chuckled, took the cup from me and brought it back full. He pawed through my T-shirts in the second drawer down of my dresser, coming up with a dark blue tee that was roomy and softly worn.

I let him pull his sopping T-shirt off me and tug the clean, dry one over my head, though I managed to put my own arms through the sleeves.

Tom kissed me on my forehead, picked up his dirty tee, and dropped it in my laundry basket on his way to the kitchen. A moment later he was back, silently scooping up my full laundry basket and disappearing with it.

A vestigial voice in my head wanted to tell him that I could do my own damn laundry, thank you very much, but I ignored it. I was too tired and too listless to bother, so I just let Tom carry on. If he turns all my socks and knickers pink, oh well, I don't give a toss. There’s nothing wrong with pink knickers.

Tom was back shortly with a cup of tea and... beans on toast. As well as a sliced apple. He sat me up against him and proceeded to feed me, only letting me operate my cup of tea for myself.

He was blessedly quiet the whole time, never pressing me to answer questions or talk about what had happened to cause my meltdown. When he'd made sure that I'd eaten every last bit, he set the tray aside and led me by the hand to the loo, leaving me to pee and wash. 

When I came out, flicking the light off behind me, Tom was leaning against the wall beside the door with his arms crossed. He straightened and escorted me back to bed, helping me find a comfortable spot and arranging my pillows for me.

“Sleep, love. Tomorrow's a new day. Sleep sweet,” he murmured softly.

He kissed me tenderly on the lips and picked up the tray, turning the light off as he went, but leaving the door open a few inches.

I lay, eyes swollen and aching, listening numbly to the small sounds that filtered into my room, of Tom moving about downstairs. The last thing I heard as I drifted off was the sound of Tom starting a load of my laundry.


	6. ...She Becomes a Butterfly

Staring at the ceiling of my room as I lay in bed, obsessively tracing the exposed ceiling beams overhead with my eyes, daylight seeped in around the edges of the window curtain brightening the room by the minute.

I had been utterly unfair to Tom. To everyone in my life. I had deliberately avoided being mindful of their needs out of sheer unreasoning fear.

No, that wasn’t quite right. I had a well thought out justification for each of my fears. That didn’t mean I had been right.

But I hadn’t been able to deal with Tom, so I had simply ignored him. I came within inches of warping my child’s life unforgivably.

Bean thumped me on my bladder again, reminding me why I had woken. I heaved myself out of bed and trudged into the loo, reminding myself that Mum was taking over my morning duties with my Old Girls today, and I didn’t need to hurry.

I stood under the shower, letting the hot water cascade over my head, thinking about Julia, Maggie and Jane. Jane and Julia are easiest, just needing me to pop round and see they’re alright, make tea and chat about their plans for the day. Part of my job is helping keep their schedules, making sure they don’t miss doctor’s appointments and driving them to the shops and that.

Maggie needs more time. I help her dress and make tea and breakfast for her, sitting with a cup of my own as we chat about the weather or her flower garden, as I carefully assessed her mental state. She had been slipping more frequently into her own unreality.

Maggie called it ‘Visiting Through the Looking Glass’, but she hasn’t shown any signs yet of taking up permanent residence there. I made a note to myself to get Robbie round to do some early weeding in the flower beds, as the dandelions are beginning to pop up. Maggie adores working in the garden with him, though she sometimes calls him ‘Charlie’.

We had discussed her future needs, and her son, Philip, was orchestrating a move to the local Senior Care Home soon. I’ll miss Maggie, but it’s best that she get used to a new place and get the 24 hour looking after that she’ll need.

I stepped from the shower and stood drying myself on the bathmat, running the towel over my belly, lifting and resting a foot on the edge of the tub so that I could reach each leg to dry it.

I’d discovered that leaning over to dry my feet was a precarious business, and had learned to be careful. Bending over my big belly cramped my lungs and made my head spin.

I stood straight and rubbed the towel over my short hair, musing about needing a haircut soon, glancing up as the bathroom door opened.

“Oh sorry, I-“ Tom stuttered as his eyes slid over me, his gaze arrested on my belly. I stood still, the towel still in my hair as I watched him.

His eyes came up to mine and I smiled as I realized his glasses were quickly fogging over in the steamy room. I made no attempt to cover myself. He’d seen everything, after all. Well, almost everything.

Impatiently, he yanked off his glasses and tossed them carelessly on the vanity counter, bringing his hand back to cup my face and tilt it up, staring into my eyes.

His gaze dropped to my breasts for a second before bringing his eyes back to my face, watching my expression carefully as his hand slid down to cup my breast. His large warm hand felt so good on my breast, his thumb rasping over the top of my puckering nipple.

I smiled up at him.

“Go on, then.”

His eyes dropped back to my breast, watching his thumb brush over my nipple. Forehead crinkling, he looked back up curiously.

“Your pretty little rings..?”

I shrugged, grimacing a little at their loss.

“Not much good for trying to feed a baby…”

“I see. Of course. I didn’t think…”

He smiled faintly as his hand cupped and lifted my swollen breast, weighing it in his hand. I’d definitely grown in that respect. I hadn’t even begun to fill his palm before. I still wasn’t much of a handful, he could still probably wrap both hands entirely around my chest, but the sight of my breast in his hand sent a spark arrowing through me.

Tom stepped back from me and surveyed the rest of my body, while I fought with myself about whether I was nervous about him seeing all the changes in my body. I did feel slightly shy about them, but I was determined to view them as simply the results of the necessary changes my body had to go through. The stretch marks on my breasts and belly. The darkened line of skin from my navel down to my pubis… Tom’s finger traced that line. He looked up at me questioningly.

“It’s called a linea negra. I guess I don’t have to translate that to you?”

“Um, no. So a dark line? Is that an effect of pregnancy?”

“Yeah. But not everyone gets it. Guess I’m just lucky that way!” I set my hands under my belly and lifted, looking down at the line marching down below where I couldn’t see any longer. I scratched.

“Does it itch?” 

“Oh fuck yes!! Some days it drives me mad! Valerie says it’s just the skin stretching, and I shouldn’t scratch…” I snorted. “Some days are pure hell, but Mum gave me some oils to soothe the itch. I keep it in the refrigerator because the cold oil feels wonderful on itchy skin. But I’m often not at home when the itchy skin makes it’s presence known.”

Bean gave a tremendous kick, rudely reminding me that I haven’t fed either one of us yet this morning.

“Bean is hungry, and won’t give me any peace until the beast is fed!” 

Tom chuckled and reached for the dressing gown on the back of the door, wrapping it around me and kissing my cheek.

“Breakfast coming up!”

I padded into the kitchen a few minutes later wearing a loose blue top and a pair of yoga pants, my sock feet quiet on the stone floor. I rocked to a stop in the doorway as I heard Tom’s voice.

His back was to me as he stood staring out the window over my kitchen sink. His shoulders were hunched up, one hand gripping my mobile in its red case to his ear, the other gripping the edge of the countertop so tightly that his knuckles and nail beds had gone white.

His voice held a cold note that I’d never heard from him before.

“I don’t care what the disagreement was, Jamie! If she had wanted me to know, she would have told me.” He hissed menacingly into the phone. “But she cried herself to sleep last night. And that IS something I very much care about!”

I watched him listen to Jamie, his feet spread and spine rigid, defending me even though I didn’t deserve it.

“No, dammit! I could feel the anguish radiating off her! (You) hurt her, and it’s your job to fix it! Figure it out, mate!”

Tom yanked the mobile from his ear and thumbed it off in exasperation, staring down at it. I thought for a second that he might fling it at the wall and break it into a thousand pieces.

I backed up swiftly and silently, retreating all the way back to my bedroom and sat shaking for a moment. Eventually I was going to have to face Jamie. But for now…

I owe Tom an apology and an explanation, and I really shouldn’t try to put it off till dinner. I took a cleansing breath, pulled up my big girl knickers and went downstairs.

Tom had made eggs and toast for us, steam curling up off the plates and delicious smells wafting around the kitchen, making my mouth water. Bean gave me another admonishing thump.

I slid into my chair with thanks and ravenously plowed into my eggs, alternating with bites of toast.

“Is it a race to see who finishes first?” Tom looked from my nearly empty plate to his nearly full one with amusement.

I swallowed a mouthful of yummy eggs and laughed.

“Yes, but not with you! I’m afraid if I don’t feed the beast,” I patted the swell of my belly, “Bean will gnaw through to get at the food! Some mornings it feels like we’re starring in that film, -whatsit?- oh right, Aliens!”

Tom made a face at the disgusting image, and then his lip quirked up.

“Well, we can’t have that! Eat up, do! Would you like more? Is there anything else-? A roast ox?” Tom hammed it up, his eyes wide and mock fearful on my belly.

I’d forgotten how playful he could be. It was nice. And I still had a job to do. I sighed as I finished up, pushing my plate away, and took a fortifying sip of my tea.

“I’m sorry about melting down all over you last night.”

“You needn’t be sorry, love. I don’t mind being cried on. You’ve had an awful lot of things to cope with over the last few days. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nope.” I grinned wryly, shrugging. “But since I’m practicing being an adult this week, I suppose I should.” My smile dimmed and I cleared my throat.

“I overheard you giving Jamie a hard time on the phone just then.” I nodded at my mobile sitting innocently on the countertop.

Tom looked sheepish, but also a little stubborn. I stood and went around the table, picking up his hand and sitting myself in his lap. 

Tom’s body immediately opened, making room for me and pulling me back against his chest. I rubbed my cheek against his smooth shirt.

“I’m really sorry about worrying you.”

“I…wasn’t best pleased that your friend brought you home in that state. I’m quite put out that he just left you here alone.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that you want to help. But you don’t have to worry about Jamie. He read me a few home-truths yesterday, and on top of a stressful conversation with Julia… Well, I just got overwhelmed and lost my shit.”

Tom waited patiently for the rest, his hand stroking down my arm. 

“The thing is, Jamie was right, absolutely right to call me on it.” I toyed with one of the buttons of his shirt. “I never told him who Bean’s father is, you see. So that was a bit of a shock for him last night. But he didn’t get angry until I revealed that I’d never told you, either. He’s rightfully disgusted with me. I am, too. So, I owe both of you an apology.”

Tom nodded, sighing and setting his chin in my hair, stroking one hand up and down my arm.

He didn’t dispute that I owed him an apology, and I was grateful for that. It’s so much harder to deliver an apology when the recipient argues about whether the apology is deserved or needed.

I needed to give him my apology, whether he accepts it or not, for my own sense of balance in the universe.

He gently scooted me off his lap to my feet and we cleared the dishes. He shoo’d me off to the lounge while he finished and made fresh tea.

I sat on the sofa, staring into the steam curling off the top of the cup of Earl Grey and raspberry leaf tea that Tom had brought me.

He made himself comfortable at the other end of the sofa, taking a wincing sip of his hot tea before twisting to set the mug aside on the end table.

Turning back to me, he reached for my feet, and gently pulled them into his lap, looking down as he stroked them. His tea mug warmed hands engulfed my feet and ankles, rubbing his thumb up my arches. This had to be the most patient man in England.

I studied him as I relaxed into his capable, caring hands. He’s a good man. But I’ve known that since the moment Tom kissed Julia’s hand and twinkled at her, making her feel she was twenty two again, and the only girl in the world. It was a gentlemanly and gallant thing to do, and I was quite bowled over, as was Julia too, come to that!

“Tom, I want you to know that I’m over the moon about being pregnant, about Bean and being a mum. I also want you to know I have never, there has not been one single moment when I was angry about it. Or angry at you for your part! The whole thing was completely unexpected and crazy, but it’s a joyous kind of crazy.

“The one difficult thing about it all has been you…”

His head jerked back and he winced, looking appalled, his hands stilling on my ankles.

“Christ, no! Not like that!” I reached toward him, holding my hand out and squeezing when he took it. I groaned, hiding my face in my other hand.

“I’m already mucking this up! What I meant to say is I’ve been horrible to you, and all I can say is that it was a pure fear reaction. I balled up all of my fears and insecurities and shoved them onto your head.”

Tom’s shoulders had relaxed and he nodded, resuming kneading my feet.

“I understand,” he said, nodding quietly. “I really don’t blame you, even though I wish you had told me…” His eyes went distant, thinking back. “Or... maybe not. It would have been awful, knowing then, and unable to get back to you. I couldn’t have left in the middle of filming without a huge penalty, not unless my mother had died or something.” He shuddered. 

Oh goddess, his mother...

“It would have been torture for me…so maybe it’s best that you didn’t say. Or wait… it’s two different things, isn’t it? There’s a difference to you not telling me, and me not knowing. One is about you, and the other is about me…”

Tom paused, obviously working it out in his head.

“I think… I’m glad for your sake that you didn’t tell me at the time. It must have been so overwhelming to cope with all that.” He looked sad. “I’m glad you didn’t have to cope with me and my reaction at the time, as well.

“As for me not knowing… Well, I guess I can’t really regret that either. I’m only sorry that you had to go through everything all by yourself. It must have been terribly shocking… I feel a bit guilty about that.”

“I… I don’t want you to feel guilty. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Tom, I need you to go away for a bit. You need to go.” I said quietly. Tom startled and looked up from his contemplation, his eyebrows snapping together. 

I put my hand up in a stop gesture. “No, wait. Listen.”

He sat up straight, blue eyes alarmed and watching me warily, his hands gripping each other in his lap as if seeking to control his reaction.

“I want you to go away for two or three days.”

“Okay..? I'm listening,” Watching me carefully, he nodded cautiously. I lifted my hand to his cheek and spoke earnestly.

“You have to go home and think about,” I waved a hand around, “all this. Without any other distractions. And without trying to construct arguments to convince me to let you stay. You need to think seriously and rationally about what you want, about what you can realistically expect of yourself.

“You have to think about what it means to be a dad. About being this child’s dad. It’s an enormous commitment, everything in your whole life will change, your whole focus will change. Everything, Tom!

“You don't have to convince me one way or the other. You have to figure out what it means to you, and what you want.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but I put my fingers over his lips. It hurt my heart to say this next bit.

“No, listen! ...You don't have to come back. You could just go on with your life, no harm, no foul. I can take care of Bean. I’ve always expected to. My family will help, I won’t be alone. We’ll be alright. 

“But we both need to know that you’re not staying out of some misguided belief that it’s what everyone (else) would expect of you, or out of some sort of guilt that you would be skyving off. I need—(we need)—to know that this is what you really want for your life. That you want to be a dad, for the rest of your life, no matter what.

“I’ll accept your decision, but I’m begging you, please don't come back without a 100% commitment to be a father to this child.”

He looked at me like I was crazy and he was having trouble keeping his patience. 

“I’ll go,” he said. “Not because I need time, and not because I have any doubts, I already know with my whole heart that I want to be this baby’s father, and I’ll do everything it takes to be a good father. I’ll go because you’re asking me to . . .”

I blew out my breath in exasperation, because he wasn’t getting it. My stomach roiled. I needed him to understand me.

“Tom, if you’re only going away to please me, you might as well not come back.” I let that statement hang there.

“You’re listening to me, but you’re not hearing me.You aren’t even understanding me. This isn’t about giving you an easy out, or about doubting your commitment. 

“Dammit, you don’t even know what you’re committing (to,) You haven’t had any time to think about it!” I could feel my body tightening with urgency, hear my voice going up.

Bean thumped me. Shit, I had to calm down. 

“Look, can we try this? Will you close you eyes and just breathe with me for a moment?”

I forced my eyes shut and unclenched my hands, pushing my tight breaths into the deep deliberate calming rhythm that I use for meditation, feeling for my center of peace and acceptance. Just let go. Tom needs to find his own centre. I needed to trust him to find it.

“Okay?” Moments later I opened my eyes and found Tom looking more relaxed, if not less grim. At least his colour was less hectic. I took his hand and stroked it.

“How are you going to cope emotionally with having all this change in your life? I’m…very afraid that you could come to resent Bean. And me. You can’t just stick your lip out and stubbornly say you’re committed, you have to (think) about what you’re committing to, and how you’re going to cope when your commitment to Bean comes up against your other responsibilities. 

“I’ve had months to think about it, and to learn how to cope emotionally with all the changes and responsibilities. I’ve had the time to make considered, rational decisions and plans. I might not have always made the best choices, but (you) haven’t even had time to get over the shock yet!

“Is this how you handle problems in your life? Make a snap decision and muddle through? It’s not good enough for a choice of this magnitude, you know.

“The other thing we both need to know, is that if you do decide to be a parent, you can’t wait around for (me) to teach you how. Like you, I know next to nothing about actually being a parent. I can’t teach you how, because I don’t know myself. 

“But I’ve seen a lot of parent couples where the Mum is clearly in charge, and the Dad only does whatever she tells him to do…and then she critiques his performance. If that’s what you think being a parent is, well… I don’t! I don’t need or want a dogsbody who calls himself ‘Dad’, and neither does Bean. I need a co-parent who is there to work things out with us.

“Do or do not, there is no try. Not in parenthood.”

“Alright, love. I understand your anxiety. I don’t believe that I’ll change my mind, but you are right that I haven’t had time to give all this much thought. It’s all been spinning emotions. I do need some time to handle a few immediate obligations, and to work out some of the changes I need to make to prepare.

“But you’re out of your mind his you think that, on the infinitesimal chance that I would decide that I couldn’t do this, I would simply leave without telling you!”

Tom cupped my face, looking deeply into my eyes, pinning me in place.

“And I am telling you right now that I’m not making any changes without discussing them with you.

“You say you need a co-parent, and that makes us partners in this. I won’t accept anything less for Bean, for me, or for you. Right?”

I nodded, and with that, Tom re-packed his overnight bag, kissed me, smoothed a hand over my belly, and left me with a load of clean laundry to fold.


	7. Begin As You Mean To Go On

I sat on the floor in the morning sun pouring like liquid gold through the window, knees folded comfortably, spine straight and my palms resting up on my knees. I sank into the red and orange behind my eyelids, feeling the sun warm the skin of my face and bare arms.

Impulsively, I pulled my vest over my head and tossed it away, letting the sun warm my belly.

Concentrating on my breathing, welcoming the sun soaking into my bare skin, watching the colours behind my closed eyes, I pushed away the thoughts and worries that flew at me. I hummed in my throat as I fended off the unwelcome distractions of my thoughts as they came slower and fewer.

I breathed and let myself be here now, letting the quiet centre rise around me isolating and cushioning me.

When another thought percolated up through the quiet I listened to it, turning it over gently and exploring it.

Is my decision to let Tom into our lives right for me as well as Bean? Do I want Tom for me? Is he our forever home? I acknowledged all my misgivings and fears before turning my thoughts to Tom as he is, not Tom as I feared he might be.

Bean rolled, stretching briefly before settling down. The sun was warm on my skin… My answer slowly bubbled up into my consciousness. 

Yes, it felt right. Yes, I want him. I don’t know if he’s my forever home, but I want to find out, for myself, not just for Bean.

A rush of energetic certainty flew through my body and my eyes snapped open, nearly blinded by the sun shining on my face. I was unmistakably happy and excited to welcome Tom back into our lives, all misgivings cleansed from my intentions I reached for the joy that thoughts of being a family with Bean and Tom birthed and blossomed.

It’s not often that meditation offers up an answer for me that quickly, or that definitively, but I’ve learned to listen when it does. I was going to cradle that joy carefully and nurture it.

Rolling onto my hands and knees, I stood carefully, holding onto the chair arm as I pushed myself upright, taking a moment to come back into the real world. I have so much to do!

Intention fizzing through me, I went in search of a pen and my kitchen pad of paper. Lists are a good thing. Lists help me think things through and remind me that I’m accomplishing the things I need to do, to be an independent grown-ass adult.

I rocked to a stop. Independent is all well and good, but I was about to become a Mum. And I was seriously considering bringing a man with his own opinions, his own voice, into my decision making. Permanently. Setting an intention did not magically clear away all the difficulties in the path I chose. 

Practical considerations must be considered, after all. But they were going to be so much… if not easier, then certainly less difficult without all the fears and self-doubt.

I stood in the middle of my home, looking around and wondering how to find a way to accommodate two more people into my life. I shook my head, staring at my bookcase. Everything arranged according to my own personal system. I could lay my hand on anything I wanted on those shelves, but it surely isn’t the bloody Dewey Decimal System!

I know, having experienced a toddler or two, that a favorite game for them was pulling books off a bookshelf. At least it was Robbie’s favourite game as a little chap.

However am I going to cope when the chaos that is a mobile child invades my life? Wait. Not an invasion. I’m the mum, and it’s my joy to adjust to my child, and also to teach Bean to adjust into our family.

As I looked around, I realised how rigid in my habits I had become. And then, on top of that, is working Tom into my home. It was daunting, but do-able.

I huffed a breath, my head whirling a bit. When my brain steadied I went and sat at my Nan’s kitchen table, my fingers smoothing over the old, worn wood, feeling the familiar nicks and scratches of the generations old family table.

I wanted, so much, to see Bean’s nicks and scratches added to this piece of family history. The table, my family table, is a record of our lives, more than a piece of furniture.

Hanna has told me that I ought to get the thing properly refinished, sanded down, re-stained and varnished. She said it’s a valuable antique, with it’s lion’s claw feet.

But I don’t see money when I look at Nan’s table. I see my family. The great uncle who had gouged his name and the year 1914 into his mother’s kitchen table as a promise that he would come back from the war. Uncle Reggie hadn’t come home, so my Nan said.

But Uncle Reggie had started a family tradition of our men carving their names and dates into the tabletop before leaving on military duty. None of my female forebears had appeared until my great grandmother’s brother Niall insisted that she carve her name into the wood, because she had worked as an airplane mechanic at home while he was off in France. He said she had contributed her bit for Queen and country, and her service deserved to be memorialised as well. So there she was, Amelia Llewellin, 1939.

She’d married George Daffydd, and after ten years of repeated miscarriages, I understand, had finally produced my Nan. By that time the family was carving wedding dates and children’s names into the table. 

Then Mum had married Dad, taking on his five girls and moving to Denmark for a couple of years, and Nan made sure Mum carved everyone’s names in before she left, and mine and Robbie’s names when they moved back.

Nan died seven years ago, when I was barely 22, leaving her home to me, along with the family table, and bless her, a journal of family stories that she’d been told, and that she’d been part of. I never knew my granddad, he died years before I was born of the black lung, but Nan wrote so lovingly about him.

I’ve added other pieces to her journal, about Mum and Dad, and my sibs. And one day, I hope my Bean will write about their stories. 

I realized that I’d let myself become too attached to control. If I was going to do this thing with Tom, I was simply going to have to relax and say yes to whatever happens.

I sighed, exhaling away my expectations.

The doorbell rang and I pushed myself upright, leaving my list on the table, trundling through to stand on tiptoe to see out the peep.

Jamie.

My heart leapt into my throat. I pulled the door open and stared at him.

“It’s bloody cold out here sweetling, let me in!” His breath was fogging and red ears huddled down into his multicolored scarf. When I stood frozen and didn’t fling the door right open, Jamie simply turned sideways and sidled in past me, pushing the door shut behind him.

I didn’t notice that tears were running down my face until Jamie wiped them away with a swipe of his cold thumb.

His arms went around me and he pulled me into a hug. “Shh sweetling, you’ll make me cry… I’m sorry, so sorry for last night. Someone helped me pull my head out of my arse. Don’t cry.”

I snuffled into his jacket. 

“Fucking hormones.” I mumbled, standing back and wiping my face on the back of my hand. “Sorry.” I said through a teary, embarrassed laugh, sniffling.

Jamie took his coat and boots off and dragged me by the hand to the kitchen. Pushing me gently into my chair, he pulled a chair close and sat next to me, stroking my hair.

I leaned forward and reached to squeeze his cold hand. “You've been wonderful, Jamie. So good to me. Thank you.”

His hand covered mine and squeezed back.

“What I don't understand is why he's suddenly come back here.” His eyes narrowed. “He's not harassing you about Bean, is he?”

Jamie tried to look dangerous, with his lowered brow and tight jaw. “There are a lot of dark places ‘round here,” he said ominously, “if he’s needing a lesson taught about messing with my girl…"

I hastily turned my head to mask my grin at the image in my head of my sweet Jams teaching Tom a lesson. Tom, who has at least six inches and three stone on Jamie. My amusement faded as I realized that Jamie was dead serious. I needed to derail that fast!

“No! There will be no lessons!” I poked my finger at his shoulder. “I'm perfectly capable of handling Tom on my own, thanks!”

Jamie pursed his lips. “If you say so, sweetling.” He rubbed the spot thoughtfully.

“So, if you didn't tell him, didn't tell anyone, not even me,” he wagged an admonishing finger at me, “how did he find out?”

“That utter cow, Serena! He ran into her at some posh do in the city. You know what a social climber she is!” I rolled my eyes. “I suppose she was chatting him up with the local gossip. She knew that Tom had met Julia, had even given her a personal tour of his set, and I was working for her mother…so, I guess that made me and Bean fair game for gossip. I'm sure she thought she was doing me a bad turn by sneaking to the celebrity about my big belly!”

Jamie was nodding, he could see Serena doing that just as well as I could.

“Anyway, Tom's not stupid, and he can count, apparently. He showed up at my door at half eleven that night.” I sighed. “He's not blind either.” I tapped my protruding belly.

Jamie blew out a breath. “Damn girl. So what next?”

My hands clutched at my hair. “It's just so fucking complicated now!”

“Oh, bollocks! It's only as complicated as you make it, sweetling.”

“Yeah? I'd like to see you cope with him moving in and complicating your life–“

Jamie tossed his hands up in the air, pure mischief written on his face.

“Girl, so would I!”

I snickered, and then it turned into a full belly laugh. Thank god for my Jams.

“So, where is Himself?” Jamie craned his neck around as if hoping to catch a glimpse of Tom.

“Um, let’s make bisquits!” I chirped brightly, slapping the table and pushing myself to my feet. Jamie shook his head at me. He knows me so well, and that includes my standard distraction techniques!

“Damn girl. What did you do now?”

“Well if you’ll just shut yer yob, I’ll tell ya!”

I busied myself getting out ingredients for shortbread and bowls and pans. Jamie set about helping me, unerringly finding everything. He knows my kitchen better than he knows his own. I think he spends more time in mine than his.

We worked while I told Jamie about apologizing to Tom, and Tom needing to head back to the city for some appointments and see his agent. 

…And asking him to take himself off for a good think before he made a commitment to fatherhood.

My voice choked up a bit as I told him. Jamie sprang up to get the shortbread out of the oven.

“Well.” Jamie pondered a bit. “I’m glad to see you turning over a new leaf and allowing Tom a chance to make his own choices.” He cocked his head curiously, and put his thumb right down on my last lingering fear. 

“Do you think he’ll come back? And do you want him to?”

My shoulders relaxed in relief. Jamie’s approval made me feel warm again.

“Yes and yes? I mean, yeah, I think he’ll come back, and yes, I do want him to. I closed down and shut out the world there for a bit, living inside my fears. But I don’t want to live my life clutching my fears to my chest. 

“I’m pulling my head out of my arse and opening the door to better things. I’m done saying no to the possibility of happiness and joy for fear of losing them again!”

Jamie clapped his hands together with a huge, happy grin. “That’s the Pix I know and love! Good on ya!”

I snorted, changing the subject before I started snivelling. “So did Paul’s ginormous bar of chocolate work it’s wonders?” I nibbled a corner of shortbread

“Oh honey, we are so not talking about Paul’s ginormous anything!” Jamie’s eyes went sly. “Unless you want to spill the deets about your Tom’s?”

I rubbed my belly and winked saucily at him. “This is all the deets you need to know, my son!”

We snickered together companionably as we drank our tea. I felt about ten stone of tension and unhappiness fall from my shoulders. We were alright again, me and Jams.

Jamie cleared his throat, looking sheepish, and set his cup down with a click.

“As it happens, Paul was not the only one determined to force my head out of my arse…”

I blinked. Do what now?

“I called you yesterday morning to apologize. Much to my surprise, Tom answered your phone.”

I blushed. “I know. I came in on the tail end of the conversation…”

Reaching my hand across the table, I squeezed his. Jamie flipped his hand over and tangled our fingers together.

“That’s a good man you have there, sweetlng,’ he said seriously. I stood up and sat on Jamie’s knee, wrapping my arms around his neck in a grateful hug, and his arms wrapping securely around my back.

“When will he be back?”

“Tomorrow, if he hasn’t come to his senses.”

“Given the tone of our chat, I’d say it’s a dead cert he’ll be back.”

We sipped our tea and munched shortbread companionably for a moment, before Jamie sat up indignantly.

“And that’s another thing! I would have called you earlier, but SOMEONE took my mobile!

I grinned. “You know, your Paul is such a clever chap! Clever and handsome! With chocolate! You should definitely keep him!”

Jamie narrowed his eyes at me, and I stole his biscuit.

######  
The bell rang, and my heart leapt into my throat. I opened the door to Tom standing on my doorstep once again. Blue eyes stared back at me solemnly from a tired face under a rumpled mass of curls. Deja vu all over again. At least this time I didn’t pass out! I shuffled back and pulled the door open for him to step through.

Tom pushed the door shut, reaching for my hands and leaning down to kiss my cheek. He towed me into the lounge, gently lowering me onto the sofa.

Pulling a satchel off his shoulder, he set it down and began pulling papers from it. I watched him, waiting impatiently, my heart thundering as he shuffled papers, muttering to himself, dropping some and distractedly bending to pick them up. He groaned in exasperation and slapped the papers onto the coffee table before collapsing next to me.

My heart in my throat, I couldn’t tear my eyes from his face. Tom turned on his hip toward me, his knee bumping my thigh with a jolt. I haven’t known him to be clumsy and at a loss for words… I could feel something twisting in my chest, getting ready to hear the worst.

Tom gathered my hands in his, staring at them and cleared his throat.

“To be honest darling, although you sent me away to think about what was best for me, all I could think about was you and Bean.”

My breath caught in my chest

Tom drew a deep breath, his hands nearly bruising mine as he clutched them.

“I understand and sympathize with your concerns about being thrust into the whole,” he waved a hand around, “celebrity thing. But there are things I can do to mitigate the problem, starting with what I really want to do anyway. I’ve been wanting to do more stage work, maybe get into the production or direction areas as well. That should go a long way to move me out of the tabloid eye, and you and Bean as well. And of course I can see to it that Bean never lacks for the odd quid.”

I made an uncomfortable noise and tried to wriggle my hand free from his painful grip. His hand spasmed around mine, loosening his grip, but not letting go my hand.

“Sorry, sorry.” He stroked my hands, soothing my discomfort, his head bent over them. I could see he was fumbling around for words. Another first.

“The thing is Pix, that while I know it will be a lot for you to take me on as well as Bean, I can’t wait to take on the challenge. I want to be a Dad to Bean, and I want to be part of this family, if you’ll allow me.

“Pix, I do trulywant to be in your lives. Not just Bean’s, but yours as well.” Tom’s aqua eyes looked into mine, a bare glimmer of tears shining from them. His hand pulled mine to his chest as I watched, and flattened my hand over his heart. I could feel his steady, if rapid, thump under my palm.

My hand flexed as his truth sank into my brain, clenching tightly in his shirt. I pulled him gently towards my mouth. His arms went around me and tugged me into his lap, one hand coming to rest on the back of my head and tilting my face up for his kiss. My hands went into his hair as I kissed him back.

And burst quietly into tears. It took a moment for Tom to realise, but when he did, he pulled me into a hug, his head laid gently on mine as he rocked us. I could feel his body shaking under mine and knew that he was sharing my happiness.

I finally ran out of tears. Goddamn hormones.

Both of us sat back, sniffling and laughing at each other as we wiped tears from our faces.

Tom retrieved the papers and pushed them into my hands. I saw that they were calendar printouts. Tapping the top page, he directed my attention.

“Do you remember the conversation we had when I was here before, when I talked about standing at the crossroads and feeling helpless to chose a direction, being fed up with the,” he raised sarcastic quote fingers,” ‘Celebrity Lifestyle’, and just wanting to come home?

I nodded cautiously, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up in alarm. Goddess, please, please, please don’t say you’re going to give up your life for Bean and me!!

“After I went to Spain your comment kept replaying in my mind. “To thine ownself be true”. Do you remember?

I nodded again. “The Bard is a pretty good source of philosophy and words to live one’s life by. But you know that.”

“Yes, well , I’d allowed myself to forget, and you reminded me. I, erm, finally chose a path, and took the first steps to extract myself from the morass. I decided that I want to do more stage work. And only work from Britain. I’m tired of living from a suitcase! So, a few months ago I started the tedious work of disentangling myself from that old life…

“These pages are my schedule for the next eighteen months. The top one is the current composite for this year looking forward, and the second one, for comparison sake, is from last year.”

His thumb ruffled through all the other pages clutched in my hand. “The rest are month to month calendar schedules.”

“Alright?” I let my confusion show. Is he saying that he’d already begun to change his life, like, last year?

“Pix,” his voice sounded gruff. “You were absolutely right that I can’t be a Dad if I’m not here, especially in the next year. I want to be here...”

I drew a breath and let it out slowly, nodding. “Right. Show me.”

He blew out his own calming breath and proceeded to show me his schedule of bookings. I hadn’t really had any idea how very complicated it all was. I felt slightly ashamed that I’d never stopped to think about his career beyond the surface of International Film Star, wearing tuxedos and jetting off to premieres and exotic film locales. And dodging paparazzi.

Tom explained the colour coded bookings, the blue boxes were firm commitments, and the yellow ones were tentative. There really was a vast difference between last year’s calendar of bookings and this year’s.

Three days from today he has a trip to Paris for pre release interviews for his upcoming premiere. His Loki role, the one he had been filming here. I felt a small excited thrill run through me. I liked those Avengers films. Robbie and I usually went to see them together.

He pointed at another blue box a couple of weeks hence. “That’s the London Premiere.” He looked up, his eyes searching mine. “Will you come with me?”

My breath caught, and my hand crept to my belly. “That...that depends. What did you have in mind?” I asked cautiously.

“I was hoping you’d tell me. It can be anything you like, walk down the Red Carpet in a stunning gown with me, or slip anonymously in the back and sit next to me to watch the film.”

I stared at him, my mind a total blank. Tom’s finger went under my chin and pushed my jaw shut. He shook his head. “I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me show you what I can clear from my schedule so that I can be here.”

He pointed to and x’d out several of the yellow blocks. Most of them, really. Those were preliminary talks about new films and tentative schedules for filming. I was astonished to see that he was scheduling over a year ahead. It took nearly thirty minutes to go through all the colour coded boxes.

“There are some things that I’m contractually obligated to do, especially in the next six weeks. The run up to a film premiere is always hectic,” he explained seriously.

I looked from the calendar pages back to him. This isn’t larking about the world, drinking champagne! This is freaking work!! I watched as Tom x’d through a couple of blue boxes set in late summer. Bean would be three months old.

I put my finger on the first one. The box simply said New Project.

“What’s this?”

“That’s preliminary work on a film that’s due to start production next year. I had planned to do this film, but it’s still within cancellation date.” He shrugged. “I want to be here, not there. These others?” His hand swept over the three blue boxes left for the next four months. “I’m obligated, and I can’t back out at this late date.” 

He put his finger on the blue box a fortnight from today. “I have to be in South Korea for five days to promote the Avengers film. It’s too late to cancel without a wanking huge penalty fee, and it wouldn’t be fair on my fellow collegues if I did.” He paused a moment before continuing. “If there’s an emergency, of course I’ll stay, or come home as soon as possible. But short of that, I really must go.”

Aqua blue eyes met mine, awaiting my verdict, gingery, long-ish curls rumpled from running his hands through them. I nodded, touching his cheek. “Alright. I understand.”

The deep worry lines relaxed and his forehead came down to rest on mine, his hands on my upper arms.

“Thank you.” He breathed. 

“We have an awful lot to work out in a short amount of time, don’t we?” I  
whispered, beginning to feel a ribbon of light and joy travel through me.

“Oh, yes. But we can do this. Together, yes?”

Bean rapped on my ribs, reminding me that I was hungry. Tom jolted when he felt it too. I snorted.

“The beast awakens!” I grinned. “You’re in at the deep end… Dad. Feed us, or suffer the consequences!”

“With pleasure!” Tom chuckled. Pulling his mobile from his pocket, he swiped through several screens before taking it through to the speaker dock in the kitchen.

Summer Lovin’ from Grease came up. Tom danced me to the table and twirled me in a slow spin onto a chair. Dropping a kiss on my forehead, he hummed and danced across the floor to the refrigerator.

I sighed in pure enjoyment. 

I set my chin in my hand and enjoyed the show as Tom danced in place while making a chicken sandwich and popping a glass of juice in front of me.

I grinned. “Thank you for enjoying my weird taste in musicals! I think you must be the first person not to run screaming. I guess I’ll have to keep you!”


	8. Love you more

My sense of smell had been hyper sensitive since about my third week of pregnancy, well before I’d even considered pregnancy a possibility in my life. Looking back, I think it was probably my first pregnancy symptom.

I walked behind Tom sitting on the sofa on my way to the kitchen and nearly stopped in my tracks as his scent wound up my nose and around my brain.

It was late in the evening, his cologne had almost worn off, and his own scent was the top note. He smelled like…I don’t even know how to say it. Like…a man. Slightly musky, dry, with a sharp note that convinced me he was all male.

Under that were the bare remnants of his cologne, woodsy and citrusy, with a faint tailing note of pachouli.

My steps slowed as I took another lungful, but I pushed myself to walk normally instead of leaping on him and tearing his shirt off. I can’t deny the rush I felt into all my bits when his scent registered, though.

I glanced back over my shoulder at him before I walked into the kitchen for the cup of chamomile tea I had planned before bed. 

He sat in the corner of my sofa, one arm along the back. The sleeves of his white linen shirt were rolled to his elbows, and the masculine veins and cords of his arm caught my attention. 

He lounged back comfortably, with his ankle propped on his knee, and my ‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting’ book resting on his thigh, reading intently, one finger rubbing his lower lip as he concentrated.

I shook my head at the surge of pure lust I felt as I set up my tea things. After setting the kettle to boil I turned, thinking I’d ask Tom if he’d like a cup. I rocked to a halt.

Tom stood, shoulder propped against the doorway, one long leg crossed over the other at the ankle, and my book dangling from his hand. Yeah, I still wanted to rub myself on him…

“D’you want tea?” I asked casually.

Did I say that one of my pregnancy things is blushing at the drop of a hat or a naughty thought? Since my hormones were up I’d spent an awful lot of time flushed. I felt another blush warming my cheeks in a dead giveaway.

He stood watching me as I pulled a clean mug from the drainboard. There was a tremor in my hands as I added more tea to the infuser. I dropped a pinch of Earl Grey in, simply because I knew he liked it.

I turned, wiping my hands on a tea towel and stared back at him, waiting curiously. When I’d finished with the towel I glanced over and dropped it on the counter. 

I needed to put this out there and see what happens. I was all done waiting.

“I…” I cleared my throat. “I like the way you smell...” I said casually as I set my hands on the edge of the counter behind me, leaning back and waiting for a response.

Will he laugh? Will he blush? No. His eyes sparked and a smile curled at the corner of his mouth.

He tore his gaze from me and glanced quickly around the kitchen, pushing off from the door jamb.

In four long strides he was reaching for my iPod dock. His long fingers danced over it, and the R&B music I’d been listening to earlier spilled out of the speakers.

‘(I’ll be there)’ by Michael Jackson rippled through the air and he strolled over to me, offering his hand.

“Dance with me.” he softly demanded.

When I set my hand in his he gently pulled me into his arms, one hand in the small of my back, and the other curled around my hand, holding me to his chest.

I glanced down ruefully at my belly, pressing into the cradle of his hips, holding us apart. I glanced up with a quip on my lips as he led me into a slow turn.

His eyes were pinned to my belly, the round globe of it brushing and rubbing against his body as he brought me back in. His breath gusted out, ruffling my hair.

“Pix, you are the sexiest thing…” he murmured.

And in that moment I felt sexy. The fact that I couldn’t see my shoes, or that my lower back ached, or the great pink streaks of stretch marks on my belly and boobs, they all ceased to exist. My body felt alive and in tune with the music through my skin, and Tom moving us gracefully and unerringly, floating us through the melody.

He dances with his hands, instinctively guiding my body through our linked hands, his hand opening around mine, telegraphing that he’s about to turn me, closing with the smallest tug to pull me back into his body, lifting and opening to spin me slowly to the chorus, lost in the music.

When the song ended and our feet came to a swaying stop, Tom lifted my chin and placed a soft kiss on my forehead before stepping back.

I put my hands on my hips. Is he going to stop now?

“I still like the way you smell.” I growled defiantly, my eyes narrowed.

His eyelids drooped and he smiled as his hand cupped my cheek, tilting my face up higher and his mouth came down on mine in an exploring kiss. Everything in my body quickly became melting hot.

When he broke the kiss to let me catch my breath, he asked,

“Is this alright?”

I shook my head. “Absolutely not.” 

Tom blinked and started to drop his hand from my cheek. I caught his wrist and held his hand there, nestling my cheek into his warm palm.

“You’re still wearing clothes.” I explained impatiently. 

“Mmm.” He hummed. “I’ll just rectify that, shall I?”

His hands moved to the buttons on his shirt, long fingers deftly plucking each button open and moving down, his eyes never leaving my face.

Hands moving to his waistband, he pulled his shirt tails out, pulled the shirt open, and shrugged out of it, shoulders bunching, pecs flexing, and collar bones standing out. A wave of heat washed over me.

He dropped the shirt on the floor, and my eyes followed it until his hands went to his belt buckle, undoing it with refined clicks, finding his button and flies. Shoving it all down past his hips, his trousers fell in a heap around his ankles. He lifted a foot and kicked them away. I must have remembered to breathe…

I wanted to plaster myself to that body. I needed his skin on mine, as much of it as I could touch!

Tom reached for me, his hand running down my arm to my hand, twined our fingers together, and turned to lead me by the hand through the cottage to my bedroom. 

Our bedroom!

My breath caught as Tom’s hands cupped my face, his aqua blue eyes shining in the lamplight as he searched mine for a long moment.

“Pix…” he breathed.

His bergamot scented breath washed over my skin and I felt myself alternately paling and flushing at my sudden overwhelming desire for him. I want… I need…

I shivered, and I suppose Tom thought I was cold. He pulled me close and wrapped his arms around me.

I nearly whimpered as his scent wrapped comfortingly around me. Oh, the lovely aroma of Tom… I hadn’t let myself remember, but I had missed this so! I rubbed my cheek against his chest, luxuriating in touching his skin once again.

We both needed this, I think. And not in a purely physical sense, either.

I sighed and melted against him, nuzzling his chest as one large hand stroked my hair. If I knew how to purr, I would have. Maybe I should learn… Stray thoughts drifted through my consciousness.

I lifted my head and looked up at him as his hands drifted down and played with the hem of my tee shirt. I smiled and took a half step back. Tom took his permission, pulling my shirt over my head and dropping it carelessly on the floor. 

I glanced down, shaking my head in dismay. I finally get to wear grown-up lady bras instead of the ones from the Junior Miss department, and what are they? Fucking maternity/nursing bras!

I watched Tom’s face as his fingers and palms explored my new pregnancy swollen breasts, lifting them and brushing rough thumbs over my nipples, sparks arrowing through my body and arching my back.

“I…just need to get used to your new shape. You were beautiful then, and you’re beautiful now, but…

I felt my body stiffen, and all expression fall off my face as I stared up. But?

“But…what?” I nearly held my breath, waiting on his answer, my back already going up.

His hands closed on my hips, what he could find of them, and he leaned down, bringing his forehead to touch mine.

“But I missed out on the transition from one kind of beautiful to another. You’ve bloomed and lived it darling, but it’s all new to me.”

The wind went out of my sails. I swallowed hard.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

“Don’t be sorry, Pix. You were only doing what you thought was right. I’ll never be angry at you for trying to protect our baby…”

Tom cupped my face, kissing me deeply. My hands wrapped around his wrists, needing to hold onto him.

His mouth moved from mine, gliding over my cheeks and down my neck, his fingers moving to play with my nipples through my bra.

He made a little sound of discontent, or maybe discomfort, as I could see that he was nearly crouching on his knees to reach me.

Sliding his hands under me, grasping my bottom, he easily lifted me and set me on my knees at the edge of the bed, adding about eight inches to my height. My arms wrapped around his neck and I smiled as I tilted my head up for his kiss without straining my neck, or his knees.

Pulling my arms from around his neck, Tom stepped back. I blinked in confusion, but as he reached around and undid my bra I realized that he was only wanting a better view.

I rolled my shoulders, letting my bra straps fall down my arms to catch at my elbows. Tom stripped it away and dropped it.

His breath caught as his hand cupped my tender breasts. One finger touched the tip of a nipple and he made a tiny sound of regret. Electricity shivered though me at his touch.

“Valerie said I can have them back when I’ve finished nursing.” I missed my little gold rings, too. Though I wasn’t really looking forward to re-piercing…

“You’re beautiful, Pix.” His tone was dead serious. I looked up and was trapped by his blue flame gaze. It has been so long since I had been touched like this, looked at like this, felt like this...

My libido had been hormone driven for the last six months, but other than suffer through ridiculously frequent wet dreams, I hadn’t done anything about it.

I had only wanted Tom. But I had made sure that he wasn’t there. My eyes teared up at the thought that I’d done it to myself. And to him.

“Sorry.” I whispered. “Shhh,” he whispered back.

I leaned forward and pushed my face into his warm neck, kissing his jaw. He lifted his chin, just as always, stretching his neck like a large cat and offering me more. 

My tongue circled his adam’s apple and it bobbed under my lips as he swallowed and his breath gusted out on a slow groan. It renewed my confidence to know that he still likes me to kiss and lick his neck.

Tom’s hands cupped my elbows and helped me stand on the bed, putting my breasts at just the right level. For him. Me, not so much.

I wanted to touch him, relearn him. But the hair. The Henry hair is right there!

I tunneled my fingers into all those glorious auburn curls, holding great fistfuls of the soft stuff, keeping his mouth at my breast.

“Tommm…” I hummed, aching for more. “I want you. Please… can I have you?”

Tom’s hand spasmed on my flesh in a flash of pleasure that was not quite pain, and pulled his head from my breast with a last slow lick at the nipple.

“How?” The guttural tone of his voice nearly did me in right there. “How do you want me, Pix? Do you want to ride me?” He growled against my lips. “On your hands and knees? Or just your knees, and I’ll let you rest your pretty breasts on the bed? Or maybe I can spoon you and slowly fuck into you from behind?”

I nearly had a spasm listening to him enumerate all the ways I could have him.

“Yes! Yes to all…” I almost choked in my hurry to say yes. A small sliver of sanity inserted itself into my mind.

“But maybe not all on one night? Bean sucks up a lot of energy-“

Tom interrupted me.

“You are NOT apologising for not having the energy to fuck all night long while pregnant, right? I just wanted you to know your…options. Choose darling, before I explode. Please?”

Puppy eyes with the Henry hair and beard? Fuck me!

“Fuck me…” I heard my voice in the distance over the thundering of my heart. I tossed my fate into the wind. “Gentleman’s choice..?”

Next I would be begging him to just do me already! Every muscle below felt coiled tight and ready to spring. I’d be panting in a minute.

“Very well,” Tom’s voice took on a deeper, decisive tone.

He pushed me up the bed corner to corner, and leaned over me on two long straight arms, smiling down wickedly.

He dipped his head and kissed me deeply, keeping the weight of his body off my belly.

Slowly he began to crawl backward, kissing down my body as he went, firing sparks in my skin everywhere he touched.

He nuzzled against my belly, rubbing his face against the swell of it, his beard both soft and scratchy. I shivered with the sensation.

Then Bean thumped Tom’s forehead and he sprang back, staring wide eyed at my belly.

I burst out laughing, the look on his face was priceless. Tom huffed his own laugh.

“Oh, I see how it is! You two are already ganging up on me, aren’t you?”

I snickered as I felt Bean stretch and roll, supremely unconcerned.

Then Tom’s eyes lit with mischief and he bent down, blowing loud raspberries on my belly.

I laughed and wriggled, but Bean reacted with a flurry of startled thumps that sent Tom laughing helplessly as he fell to my side and wrapped an arm around my hips.

I lay back and tucked an arm under my head so I could watch Tom commune with…his baby.

I teared up watching him stroke and soothe Bean’s agitation, murmuring in a nearly inaudible (to me) voice, his lips against my skin.

My eyes drooped and body utterly relaxed as I watched, combing my fingers gently through his hair, finally giving myself permission to…fall in love with my baby’s father.

Falling in love with him...

I stretched and took a deep breath, opening my eyes to daylight peeping through the bedroom curtains. I drew a contented breath, luxuriating in the warmth wrapped around me.

Wait. Did that really..? I started to giggle, rolling my face into Tom’s chest. 

“Hmm?” Tom blinked awake blearily and looked down at me. “What..? Darling, are you alright?”

I snickered. “How does it feel to be cock-blocked by your own kid? Daddy.”

Waking up to joy and laughter is a good thing.


	9. Live in the Present

I just…” I rolled my face into his chest, taking comfort in his scent and the steady beat of his heart. I fought back the tears that tried to clog my throat...

“I just want it to be perfect for Bean…”

Tom’s hand cradled the back of my head, his fingers stroking my cheek bone soothingly.

“Darling… I know you want the best for Bean…but need I remind you of your own words?”

I blinked up at him in confusion. Tom’s mouth curled in a gentle smile.

“You said -proclaimed even!- that ‘Perfect is boring’. And there’s no room for life in perfect! We’ll do our best for Bean, but of course there will sometimes be unhappiness and pain, and boredom and anger and scraped knees...”

I heard the catch in Tom’s voice and felt him swallow and breathe deep to contain his own dad fears. 

“Life happens, and it’s amazing, but it’s inevitably painful. You know this already, my love.”

We fell silent for a long moment, absorbing the truth of his words. Then Tom stirred and kissed my forehead, shifting me carefully off him to the bed.

“Chocolate ice cream with a caramel swirl?” He pulled on his trousers and his shirt, not bothering to button it. 

“Oooh!” I sat up and nodded eagerly. “Yes, please!”

“Back in a tic, love.” Tom grinned and padded off to the kitchen in bare feet.

I laid my head back down and closed my eyes while I waited for his return. I could hear him rummaging around the kitchen cupboards, opening and closing, the clink of the bowl in the counter top, the drawer sliding out and the sharper sounds of spoons being withdrawn, the drawer pushed shut…

My eyes opened in the dim light of our bedroom, blinking back into focus. I was propped against him, my head on his bicep. Tom was semi-sitting, propped by a pillow, still in his trousers and shirt, sleeves crumpled and rolled, buttons still undone. His chest rose and fell in the gap of his shirt in gentle breaths.

I stared at the beauty of his eyelashes against his skin, his cheekbones and parted lips, soft in sleep.

I wanted to look at him forever, to always remember this moment, the quiet in-between spaces.

But I had to get up to pee. And the ice cream was melted in the bowl on the nightstand. So yeah, life wasn’t perfect. But it was pretty damn good.

I stared at Tom’s sleeping face, inches from mine, the sweep of eyelashes over his cheeks and the sweet, innocent quality all of us get when our guards are down and our daytime cares are erased by soothing sleep.

I felt flattered that Tom has allowed me to see this side of him. It takes enormous trust to let someone see you while you sleep, defenseless and unguarded.

Tom’s lips parted in a soft sigh, and his eyes fluttered open, looking hazy and unfocused for a minute.

I lay there, the back of my hand under my cheek, watching him come awake, wondering what his reaction would be when he realised I’ve been watching him while he sleeps.

He smiled slowly as his eyes focused. “Good morning…” he murmured.

“Yeah, I think it will be.” I murmured back, before rolling away and getting out of bed, padding into the loo to empty my bladder again. I washed up and quickly brushed my teeth before clearing out for his turn. He kissed my cheek on his way past me.

I shook my head. He was damn near beautiful, even first thing in the morning, yawning and scratching his hair. I can’t even be annoyed with him for it, because how can you not love someone who looks so damn sweet?

It was too early to get up for the day. I yawned. Then I spotted the bowl of melted ice cream on the bedside table, and remembered what I’d been meaning to do to him before my damn pregnancy hormones knocked me out.

Hmm… My energy was suddenly up. I got back into bed and pulled Tom’s pillow to my face, breathing in his scent.

Tentatively I touched my breast, playing a bit with the nipple. Yep. Thinking about doing the things with Tom that I’ve missed all these months is definitely revving my motor.

My hand slid down over my belly to my mound, touching lightly. Oh yes…

I heard a sharp breath and opened my eyes, staring into Tom’s face as I touched myself, watching amusement turn to lust.

I held my hand up to him and he took it, bending to lick and nuzzle my fingers. I smiled lazily.

“You’ve been very patient. Would now be a good time, do you think?”

Tom’s smile went crooked. “That depends, do you think you can stay awake this time?”

I snickered. “That entirely depends on whether you’re more interested in playing with me, or playing with Bean.”

Tom slid into the bed. “I’m fairly sure a hurricane couldn’t distract me from your charms right now, darling Pix.”

With that, he kissed me, his hand moving to trace circles and curlicues around my breast until my chest lifted toward him for more.

His hand closed around my breast and he lifted his head to give me a wicked grin, dropping down to suck on my nipple. Sparks traveled down my spine to lodge in my cunt, setting me alight.

His other hand went to toy with my lips, a finger sliding between to circle my already wet core. My hips began moving in time to his fingers, breath catching when they moved to circle my clit. I let out a mewl of disappointment when they moved away. Again.

Tom’s head lifted and he smiled at me, then pushed my over on my side, facing away from him.

He cuddled up behind me, lifting my leg and pulling it back over his thigh and letting his fingers delicately explore until I was thrusting against them.

I lifted my arm back, pushing my hand into his hair as he nuzzled and licked my neck. Pushing my arse back, I demanded more, and he obliged by running his hard cock between my legs, alternating teasing touches with his fingers and nudging my clit with his cock.

He was driving me mad. I gasped when he thrust up into me, his hand moving to grip my thigh and hold me still.

I realised he was growling in my ear and muttering “…so hot, my god, so…uh, fuck… so good…missed you…”

I thrust my hips back hard, and it was as if I had given him permission to let loose, his hands all over me, gripping and pulling at my breast, the other rubbing and circling my clit.

My mind whited out and I became pure sensation, heat and friction and his hot breath panting in my ear, driving me up and up.

“Yess, yess, go, that’s my girl, oh yesss, take it, take it…”

And I did. He drove me to the top and pushed me off. My back arched and a cry ripped from my throat, as everything seized and throbbed and released, all my tensions and worries spilled into the universe, accepted and rocked tenderly.

Tom’s growl turned into a grunt and I felt him spill into me, a hot wash of release as I began to relax, still fluttering around him and panting.

We lay, drifting in each other’s arms while he slipped out of me, leaving a cooling trail on my thigh. He kissed my ear.

“Breakfast?” He murmured.

When I nodded vigorously he laughed and pulled away, standing and holding his hands out to help me up. I grimaced at the trickle down my thigh and he laughed.

“You go tidy up. I’ll start your breakfast, yes?”

****

I swore and brought my little car to a jerking halt. There, trundling along the verge with her cane was Maggie Harris. I wondered whatever she was doing out there alone, half a mile beyond the village.

I couldn't stop there, the verge wasn't wide enough, but there was a smallish wide spot about 10 meters ahead of Maggie, so I turned my little car around and tucked into it. Luckily, it was an unusually gorgeous warm spring day, and when I stood up out of my car, I could smell the wild roses in bloom along the verge. I took a deep breath of appreciation as I straightened my back, bracing a hand on my lower back as I straightened. When had my car seat got so uncomfortable? 

Oh right. When I entered my eighth month, and had to lean my seat back so I could fit my belly behind the wheel and still reach the floor pedals.

I looked back at Maggie. Oh no... I could see tears running down her face, and she was muttering to herself brokenly. Not wanting to frighten her, I strolled toward her with a casual air.

“Afternoon, Maggie! Lovely day for it!” I said cheerily.

Maggie looked up and her face went from abject distress to smiling recognition in an instant.

“There you are, Mary! I've been looking and looking for you!” She beamed at me.

I was confused for a moment. I hadn't ever told her that my mother called me Mary, had I? I reached into my pocket for the packet of tissues that I always carry.

“Well now you found me, love.” I patted the tears gently from her cheeks.

“Yes,” she said excitedly, “Mother sent me to find you! Come along, we'll be late for tea!”

My heart sank. Oh dear. She hadn't recognized me after all, she thought I was someone else entirely. My eyes welled with tears that I quickly blinked away. I had helped her son Philip find and secure Maggie a place in our local Senior Care Centre, in Arden House. She was actually due to move in there in a fortnight. I sighed. I’d have to call Philip and see if the timetable could be moved up.

“Right, well let's crack on then!” I smiled, still pretending cheer.

I helped her into my car, tucked her walker into the boot, and drove her home directly as she nattered on about what a pretty day it was.

I spent an hour on the phone with her son Philip, between getting Maggie her tea and putting the contingency plan in motion to get her moved into Arden House. Luckily, her room was available, so it was no problem to move her tomorrow. She obviously couldn’t be left alone any longer.

It was while I was doing the washing up after settling Maggie in front of the telly with The One Show, that I remembered to call Tom to let him know that I would be late, waiting for Philip to arrive and spend the night with his mum.

I made up a bed on the sofa for him before readying myself to head home. I’d be back in the morning to help with the move. 

I was knackered, and pretty much fell into bed when I got home. I’m not sure when Tom got in, only registering a long warm body wrapping around me in the night.

Morning came too soon, but I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower. Tom had breakfast waiting for me when I emerged.

He talked about his meeting yesterday with the film people. I just listened as I ate, not contributing much beyond a few random questions, and not really listening to his answers. My head was busy with all the things I needed to do today.

I stood to take my teacup to the sink and the room spun. I had to grab the edge of the table as my knees threatened to go out from under me. Oh shit.

My vision tunneled, and I knew that I was going to fall in the next second, and there was nothing I could do about it.

The world tilted and then I was suddenly in Tom’s arms. The room snapped back into focus and I heard him calling my name.

My hands found his arms, clutching at his biceps, holding onto his steadiness.

“I’m okay!” I gasped. “Okay!” I took a deeper breath and smiled, looking up into Tom’s terrified face.

“Watch out for that first step, it’s a doozy!” I patted his arm. “I’m okay now. You can let go of me now.”

“What the hell just happened, Pix?”

“It’s okay. Sometimes I just get a dizzy spell if I stand up too fast. My midwife says it’s perfectly normal for pregnant women’s blood pressure to drop when they stand up quickly. Something about the increased blood volume… Anyway, I’m fine, don’t worry!” I gave him a sunny smile.

Tom was staring down at me grimly and he hadn’t loosened his arms.

“How often does this happen?”

“Tom, it only happens when I stand up too fast. I’m fine, honestly!” I didn’t need him hovering. I’d got tons of stuff to get through that day, and I didn’t have time to play silly buggers with Tom.

“Pix. Pay attention now. I didn’t ask you why you got dizzy. You explained that. I asked how often it happens!”

“Jeez, Tom, I don’t know. I never counted!”

Tom narrowed his eyes. “Ballpark it for me.” He demanded, not letting go.

I rolled my eyes impatiently and thought about it.

“Maybe a few times a week.” I shrugged, ready to let this drop. I have things to do today. Loads of things, packing Maggie’s case, taking her to Arden House, packing up her little house… It’s clear she won’t be coming back.

Tom made an impatient noise. “And how many is ‘a few’?”

I was rapidly getting annoyed. “It’s ‘a few’!” I snapped, “More than two and less than ten, alright?” I pushed at his arms, wanting to put some space between us. Bean kicked at where my belly was pressed against Tom and I winced.

Tom grimaced and took a reluctant step back, but he still hadn’t let go of me, his hand locked firmly behind my back. Obviously he wasn’t finished.

“Do you ever actually faint? Or is it just dizziness?”

“The only time I’ve ever fainted was the night you showed up here unannounced!” I spit out.

Tom paled and took another step back, loosening his grip around me and grasping my hands. Shame flashed through me.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean-“ but I had. “I’m fine Tom, honestly.” I lifted my hand to his cheek. “And it absolutely wasn’t your fault that I passed out that night! I shouldn’t have said it like that. I’m sorry. But it really was the only time I’ve ever completely blacked out. I just get a little dizzy, but it passes quickly if I just stand still for a moment and let my blood pressure adjust.

“Alright. And your midwife says it’s normal, and you’re medically fine?”

I had to smile at the precision of his words. I nodded.

“Yes, all normal and fine.”

“Thank god!” He pulled me back into a hug, his body bowing around me. “Whew! I really thought you were going down, darling!”

I was pretty sure that I was too. The only reason I didn’t was Tom grabbing me and holding me steady for the crucial moment. But I wasn’t going to tell him that, he was worried enough. I tossed my head and gave him a leer.

“You wish!” 

Tom chuckled. “As a matter of fact, darling…”

I ducked away. “Nope. I have work today. Loads and loads of work! There’s paperwork and all sorts of stuff that I have to do before Phillip gets here. We’re both going along to help Maggie get settled at the Manor. I might not be home till late.”

“Right. Let me know if there’s anything I can do?”

I grinned. “Sure. But I think everything’s under control. Mum is handling Jane and Julia today.

“Okay.” Tom kissed me quickly but firmly and dug his keys out of his pocket. He had a meeting about a script that doesn’t begin filming for another eighteen months or so.

“See you later then. I’ll get dinner, shall I?”

“That would be great, thanks!” 

Tom waved and left. He was back a minute later, sticking his head in the door.

“Pix? Don’t stand up so fast, right?”

I laughed. “Right!” I snapped a salute in his direction, but he was already gone.

Between helping Maggie get bathed and dressed, and packing her case, I was pretty busy until her son Phillip got there with effusive apologies for being late, which he wasn’t, and many thanks for helping.

We arrived at the Manor in time for elevenses, so Phillip took his mother off to the dining room for tea and her first introduction to her new neighbors, while I dealt with staff and unpacked her case.

She settled happily in, striking up conversations easily. It’s a good thing that Maggie is so sunny. I hope she’ll be able to hold onto that. I had to take a moment to wipe tears discretely before I said good bye. I’m going to miss the old girl. I’ll be back as frequently as I can, and I promised her a visit from Bean at the first opportunity.

Phillip drove me back to Maggie’s cottage, and departed, wiping his own tears.

I made myself a cuppa and sat in her silent home for a few minutes, just resting my feet for a bit. I was tired and a bit wrung out, but there was more to do.

I finished my tea and heaved myself slowly out of Maggie’s armchair, making a note that she’ll want that moved into her new room along with her own bedroom furniture. Phillip hadn’t had enough notice to schedule removers for the next three days.

I spent the rest of the afternoon listening to my 80’s musical tunes playlist on my iPod, packing dishes and linens and the accumulated mementos of a long life.

Tom called and enquired when I’d be finished, before I realized how late it had grown.

I was really tired. I finished for the night, locked up and went home in my little car.   
When I pulled up at home and dragged inside, all I wanted was a lie down, but I’d forgotten that Tom had said he’d organize dinner. The scents that assaulted me when I walked in turned my stomach.

Being pregnant had done weird things to my sense of smell. I couldn’t any longer bear the scent of frying bacon, or brewing coffee.

Add Vindaloo to that list. Dammit! I trundled at top speed into the loo just as Tom came out of the kitchen with a welcoming smile that fell off his face as he saw me scrambling.

I fell onto my knees over the loo and heaved my guts up over and over, but nothing came out but watery bile. Shit, my head was spinning, I realized that I’d been so busy that I’d had, like, only a solitary piece of toast to eat all day. My head spun and spun as I felt Tom lifting me.


End file.
